Crossed Boundaries
by casus17
Summary: NCIS always knew Atlantis had a deadly enemy out there somewhere... they just never expected to find it in their own backyard.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:** Yes, I'm back with a brand new crossover! More awesome SGA/NCIS awesomeness... well, it's a story at least! Can't believe it's finally done, I mean, could have written a few one-shots to get the fanfiction beast back in the cage, but there you go! Besides, don't think you guys would appreciate it as much!

For those just finding this story, it is the third in a series, but I don't think you absolutely need to read the ones before. There are some mentions of events in them, but you can get by without it, probably.

Um, it's set post-EATG in Atlantis, and mid Season 6-ish for NCIS

So anyways, here you go, and have fun!

**Warning:** Its a little darker than the other fics... mentions of torture throughout... some emotional whumping... some physical whumping... not much swearing, or at least, what I would consider serious swearing... let's go with semi-serious swearing

**Disclaimer:** If I owned them... wow, now that would be an awesome birthday present... hint hint

**Author's Note, 19/05/11:** The Polish in this story is now fixed, with the help of the amazing LadyKristina, who deserves a massive thank you! Also thanks to Sakra, who pointed out some things wrong with the fic... I fixed what I could without completely changing the storyline, but thank you for all your help, both of you! If you ever come back to read this, that is...

* * *

**CROSSED BOUNDARIES**

* * *

**Chapter 1**

"Rodney, move it!" Sheppard shouted, heaving the scientist to his feet as McKay slipped over once more on the wet road.

"I'm trying!" McKay snapped back. "But it's dark, cold and wet, and it smells!" A sharp crack, gunshots, filled the air behind them, and Sheppard felt the whiz of a bullet as it just missed.

"Christ!" McKay cried, ducking from the sounds. "Moving, I'm moving!"

He scrambled to his feet, and Teyla took him by one arm, hauling him along, both limping.

Ronon ran back to join Sheppard, raising his own gun – a Beretta, not his blaster.

"No!" Sheppard ordered, needing to shout above the deluge of rain that had drenched them the moment they had escaped the warehouse. "We need to get out of here!"

Ronon growled, but obeyed, spinning on his heels and taking off up the road, bullets dogging their steps. Sheppard followed, holding on tight to his ribs, trying not to let them jolt.

Teeth gritted, pain ignored, blood forgotten, they all made it to the end of the road. And all without getting shot.

Sheppard looked both ways – to the left was the city proper, bright lights and noise despite the hour and the rain.

John took off to their right instead, taking the lead now.

"What?" McKay gasped. "Shouldn't we… people?"

He was struggling to breathe, the run and the beatings combining to wear him down. Sheppard just shook his head.

"No passports, no ID, we'd be toast," he told the scientist, watching as ahead, car lights suddenly turned down the road they were on. John stumbled to a halt, a bad feeling in his gut.

The car sped up on seeing them, and that bad feeling got worse. "Shit. Come on!"

He ran forward a few paces, and turned down an alley, bullets flying as the car screeched to a halt.

Sheppard wasn't about to let his team get gunned down though. He turned another corner, hoping they could double back to the main road.

No such luck, with three men running towards them, guns up, a bit shocked at actually coming face to face with the targets they were trying to cut off.

"Now?" Ronon demanded, and Sheppard nodded, raising his borrowed Glock.

"Now."

His first shot took the middle one square between the eyes, dropping him like a stone. His second shot joined Ronon's second shot to down the last, and suddenly the way forward was clear, just like that.

Trying to ignore the bad feeling in his gut, Sheppard ran forward, his team hot on his heels. Ignoring the three men they had just killed just as uselessly as he was ignoring his gut, they turned right again at the next corner, heading back for the street.

Only to be stopped by another set of car lights, turning into the wide alley, back wheels almost fishtailing on the wet road.

"Shit! Back, back, back!" Sheppard yelled, spinning on the spot and nearly twisting his ankle as his injured leg tried to crumble. Ronon caught him and with silent thanks, they raced on, trying to dodge yet more bullets from the car chasing them.

Rodney and Teyla turned back into the smaller side alley, and Sheppard and Ronon jumped after them, the car all but brushing their feet.

Sheppard grabbed someone, he wasn't sure who, but whoever it was, he hauled them back around the corner for a third time. "Move it, back to the road!"

He quickly followed, but didn't start running just yet, instead pulling his gun up and shooting at the reversing car, aiming for its wheels.

Ronon joined him, shooting out the back window as the vehicle came closer and closer.

Bullet hit rubber, and the car hissed to a halt, the back scraping against the bricks of the building next to them.

John didn't stay to watch, pulling Ronon away and following McKay and Teyla up the alley towards the road.

This time he sneaked a peak around the corner. "Okay, people it is. Move it!"

They slipped out, trying to catch a breather, keeping to the shadows and a slow jog instead of the fast paced sprint they had managed to keep up for the last ten minutes.

Or they were, until another car skidded out onto the road, pedal down and obviously after them. And obviously with orders not to let them escape, whatever it took.

"Run!" Sheppard shouted as bullets again flew after them. He only just heard Rodney's muttered, "Don't these guys ever give up?"

They ran though, still keeping to the side, but there was no way they were going to outrun a car, and no convenient alley for them to duck down. The car caught up.

"Down!" John screamed at the top of his lungs, falling to the ground and ignoring the pain that flared around his ribs. The bullets slammed into the wall above them as the car flew past.

Sheppard jumped to his knees, shooting at the car as it slammed on its brakes and spun back towards them. Ronon's gun joined his, and then Teyla's, and McKay's.

And then John's gun clicked on empty just as blood splattered inside the car.

"Shit," he muttered, tossing the now useless weapon aside. He preferred his own anyway. "Move it, move, move, move!"

He got to his feet, ignoring the way his breath hitched and pushed Ronon on. His hand came away sticky.

He looked at it, trying to run and realise that his friend had been shot at the same time. It wasn't easy. He shook his head, and muttered the next realization out loud.

"This isn't going to work."

Only Ronon heard him, falling back slightly, and admitting, "It never was." He didn't show any signs of being shot, but then again, he rarely did. "We need to get in those crowds."

"We're not going to make it," John told him, unable to help the wince as a stumble jarred his whole left side. "The city's too far. We need a better plan." He looked around, and, seeing an option, pushed to the front, forcing his body to ignore the pain. "Come on, this way. I've got an idea."

* * *

"Haven't any of you left yet?"

The three of them – DiNozzo, Ziva and McGee – turned around as Gibbs spotted them all standing before the plasma. Considering he had told them all to go home…

DiNozzo was the first to turn back. "Just watching the news, boss. They found another body in Europe. That's the fourteenth, all dead from the same thing."

Gibbs walked over to join them, unsure why they couldn't watch this from home. Which was where he had told them to go. But he had to admit – to himself at least – his interest was piqued.

"The rapid onset ageing deaths?" he asked, joining them before the television. "Of course." It had been all the news in the two weeks. He shook his head but said nothing.

"They're calling it murder now," McGee explained.

"Well, this last guy didn't cut his own chest, or put himself in a dumpster before he died from… old age," DiNozzo reminded the probie facetiously, earning himself a scowl from the younger man.

Yeah, Gibbs didn't get that either. Murder was a definite possibility. But what? A disease, some kind of biowarfare? He knew from very recent and personal experience that viruses could do a hell of a lot more damage than the average person believed. But the spread –

No, not now. He turned away from the computer and moved over to his desk, forcing his mind away from a case for five minutes. This last one had hit a little too close to home for his liking, and now he needed some breathing space from investigation. Especially from investigating a case that was way out of his jurisdiction.

He grabbed his wallet and keys from the draw in his desk, and switched off his light, about to go home, drink a glass of whiskey and work on his boat. Yeah, that always managed to clear his mind.

That was, before his phone rang.

Sighing, he grabbed the cell from his pocket, not even looking at the number as he flipped it open and answered the damn machine. First thing to go off when he –

Pelting rain, shouts and gun shots met his ears, and he stood up straight, a look of worry passing over his face. Ziva, who had turned when the phone rang, hit DiNozzo on his back so they could all watch, could all know something was not quite right.

"Gibbs?" The voice didn't even give the senior agent a chance to greet them. "Gibbs!"

Gibbs had to admit, he was a little shocked. "Sheppard?"

More gunshots sounded out and he pulled away slightly from the loud, and apparently close bullets. "Sheppard, is that you?"

"I need you to use the number I gave you!" the colonel shouted in his ear, over the rain and gun fire, and shouts, and the sudden sounds of squealing tires. "Gibbs, can you hear me?"

"Are you back home?" he demanded instead, not understanding but remembering the need for discretion. "Sheppard, what the hell is going on?"

"No, I'm calling from the freaking…!" Sheppard trailed off in annoyance. "It's a long story, but I need you to tell the number that I called! Understand. I need you to use that – McKay, watch out!"

The gun shots suddenly sounded a lot closer, and if Gibbs had to guess, he would have guessed Sheppard was the one shooting. "Sheppard, what the hell is going on? Where are you?"

"Sorry, little busy right now," he snapped. "Just use the number! Tell him – Ronon! Shi-."

Suddenly a sharp explosion hit the phone on Gibbs' ear, and he had to pull away as a high whine came through, followed quickly by silence. Something had happened to the phone Sheppard was using. Or the colonel himself.

Gibbs swung into action. Chucking the cell to a panicked looking McGee, he barked a sharp order, "Trace it," before moving back behind his desk and pulling his draw open again.

"Was that Colonel Sheppard?" Ziva asked, sharing a worried look with DiNozzo, who smirked.

"I think he lost the need for a title when he tried to blow us up," he told her, before turning back to Gibbs. "But it was Sheppard, wasn't it? What was happening?"

Tucked away safely at the back, he found the piece of paper he was searching for. Moving at a jog, he went for the stairs. "Just help McGee!"

He took the stairs two at a time, racing towards Vance's office – the most secure room in the building, besides MTAC. The secretary had gone home long ago, but he knew the director of NCIS was still in there, doing whatever it was he actually did.

He didn't bother to knock, just walked right on, interrupting Vance where he was bent over his desk doing paperwork.

"Doesn't anyone in this place ever go home?" Vance demanded, looking up with his perpetually annoyed face. "What do you want, Gibbs?"

Vance didn't waste time on small talk though, which the older agent appreciated. "I just got a call from Colonel John Sheppard. I need to use your phone."

"Who?" Vance asked, frowning. "Wait. The Atlantis guy? Why are they back on Earth?"

"No idea. I think someone shot the phone he was using before he could tell me." Gibbs grabbed the director's phone – the most secure line in the building, besides those in MTAC – and glanced at the piece of paper.

"Shot?" Vance shook his head. "So who are you ringing?"

"Sheppard gave me the number for some Air Force General who works in a department called Homeworld Security."

"General O'Neill, I know him. He briefed me on the Stargate Program," Vance remembered. "Wait, Sheppard gave you _his_ number?"

Gibbs nodded as he dialled. "It's for emergencies. Sheppard called to get me to call O'Neill. For what, I don't know, his phone got cut off before he could tell me. But I think this counts as an emergency anyway."

The phone was ringing, and Gibbs stood up straight, waiting for the man to answer. It didn't take long.

"Yello?"

Not expecting such a laid back response from the man in charge of the defence of the world, Gibbs raised an eyebrow. "Is this General Jack O'Neill?"

There was a pause of heavy silence. "Who the hell is this?"

Yeah, this had to be him. "General, my name's NCIS Special Agent Gibbs. I was the agent on the marine hybrid case until you had me taken off it." That still rubbed. "I was also on -."

"Yeah, I know who you are," O'Neill snapped. "How the hell did you get this number?"

"Colonel Sheppard gave it to me just before we left Atlantis a few months ago."

The man hissed and something squeaked, like he stood up. "Please tell me you're on a secure line, NCIS Special Agent Gibbs."

"As secure as I can get on such short notice," he told the general wryly. He wasn't an idiot. "And I needed to talk to you asap. I just got a call from Sheppard."

There was another pause, though this time the silence was more stunned than anything. "You? Just got a call? From Sheppard?"

Gibbs hated repetition. "Yes. I don't know where he was, yet, but he was under attack. He at least had Dr McKay and Ronon Dex with him. And he got cut off before he could tell me anything more than to contact you."

There was the sound of things being moved around quickly. "Why the hell did he call you?" the general demanded. "No, it doesn't matter. I'm coming into NCIS. I'll be there in two minutes, don't go anywhere!"

O'Neill hung up without even a goodbye just as McGee banged into the room, DiNozzo and Ziva on his tail. They all looked a little shocked.

"Did you trace that number?" Gibbs asked as Vance got to his feet, obviously annoyed at being so out of the loop. But he remained silent as McGee looked between the two men.

"I did." McGee shook his head. "It came from a payphone. In Gdańsk. In Poland."

"Poland?" Vance demanded, sharing a look with Gibbs. "What the hell is Atlantis' top team doing in Poland?"

"That's not all," DiNozzo told them. "Gdańsk is where six of the fourteen rapid onset ageing deaths have been found."

"I knew you were paying too much attention to that," Gibbs muttered. But it meant something, it had to. He didn't know what yet, though, and it was already bugging him.

Apparently he wasn't the only one. Ziva looked around, and then crossed her arms. "So, what's the -."

A bright light suddenly filled the corner of the office, bright enough that Gibbs saw it reflected in the eyes of his agents, and spun, hand going to his gun. Again, he wasn't the only one, but the only one to actually pull his weapon was Vance.

The others recognised it though, having experienced it themselves four months earlier. And a second later they also recognised one of the people who emerged from the bright light of Asgard beaming technology.

Gibbs let go of his sidearm and moved forward, offering his hand and a small smile. "Mr Woolsey, it's good to see you again."

The commander of the expedition to Atlantis took his hand, but he didn't smile; instead his face was tense, worried. "Agent Gibbs. I would say I'd feel the same, except maybe if you hadn't called…"

He let the words go unspoken, but Gibbs understood. He dropped his grip, even as the other man gave a roll of his eyes. "Come on, Woolsey. We knew something was up." He offered his own hand. "NCIS Special Agent Gibbs. I'm General Jack O'Neill."

Gibbs had already guessed that, going by the stars on his shoulder. According to Sheppard, this man had saved the world a few times over. He grabbed O'Neill's hand.

"General," Vance greeted, walking forward. "Mr Woolsey." They all shook hands, but Gibbs didn't want to wait.

"What's going on, General?"

O'Neill twitched his eyebrow. "Straight to the point then." He handed the agent a black device, and then chucked one each to DiNozzo, McGee and Ziva. "I can't explain here. You're coming back to Atlantis. Colonel Caldwell, we're ready."

A second bright light filled the room, and – slightly confused – Vance looked away, squinting from the intensity. When he looked back, he was alone.

"God damn Air Force," he muttered, sitting back down and grabbing his phone, determined to find out exactly where his agents were.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note:** Again, a huge thanks to LadyKristina for all her help in turning my terrible, terrible online Polish translations into real words and sentences!

* * *

**Chapter 2:**

When Ziva opened her eyes, the browns and beiges of Vance's office were gone, replaced by the sterile greys of an all too familiar Earth made spaceship.

"Agent Gibbs," Colonel Caldwell's familiar voice echoed in her ears. "Welcome back aboard the Daedalus."

Ziva turned on the spot, still holding on to the black locator beacon, to find the crew of the Daedalus looking at them all, and Gibbs shaking the hand of the balding commander of the US built and owned space craft.

"Colonel Caldwell, it's good to be back," Gibbs greeted, looking around. "But Sheppard called from Earth," he reminded them all. "Why are we going to the Pegasus Galaxy?"

O'Neill and Woolsey shared a look behind Gibbs' back, but Ziva picked it up. "What is it?" she demanded, not liking the look.

Colonel Caldwell was the one to answer. "You're not going to the Pegasus Galaxy," he told them succinctly. "Major, beam them down to Atlantis."

Before any of the NCIS agents could demand a further explanation, the bright lights of the Asgard beaming technology engulfed them again, and when their eyes cleared the sleek architecture of Atlantis greeted their eyes.

"Holy crap," McGee breathed. "You discovered personal instantaneous travel over _galaxies_?"

In front of the newly arrived group, Dr Zelenka and Major Lorne shared a look. "Not quite, Agent McGee," the Czech scientist told them. "Perhaps, if you look out the window, things will be explained."

Exchanging looks, the NCIS team turned around and headed for the door. Followed closely by Woolsey, O'Neill, Lorne and Zelenka, they walked outside into the fresh, sea air.

"Holy crap…" McGee repeated as his jaw dropped. Ziva just nodded in agreement, stunned beyond belief.

"Is that the Golden Gate Bridge? And how does no one know about this."

Ziva watched Woolsey and the General share a look out of the corner of her eye. Then Woolsey nodded.

"Yes, it is, Agent DiNozzo. And we're cloaked, they can't see us. We've managed to keep the city's existence under wraps."

Gibbs turned around, obviously refusing to be as awed as his team. "When did you bring Atlantis back to Earth?" he demanded. It certainly explained a lot.

"About a month ago," Woolsey told them, gesturing at the door and suggesting they move back inside. "A Wraith Hive ship managed to get the co-ordinates to Earth, and after some special adjustments they made thanks to a ZPM, they had the capability to do it within weeks."

"The Wraith?" Ziva asked as they walked inside. "You're saying the Wraith made it to Earth?"

"One Hive ship did, yes," O'Neill answered. "And I would love to go into all the details about how we defeated them, and space battles, and drive thingeys -."

"Wormhole drive," Zelenka interrupted. "We managed to open up a wormhole -."

O'Neill interrupted him right back, complete with a glare. "But right now, Sheppard and his team are apparently in trouble, and as much as that doesn't surprise anyone, I'm thinking we should concentrate on that."

They were at the conference room by then, and as they all entered and took a seat, the doors hissed closed. O'Neill kept on speaking. "Now, I can tell you what we do know. When we destroyed the Hive ship a month ago, Atlantis apparently wasn't the only thing to come down. Apparently some Wraith darts managed to land as well, because they've been sucking the life out of people in Europe."

"Wait, those rapid onset ageing deaths?" DiNozzo demanded, to a shake of the head from his boss. "That's the Wraith?"

"That's what we assumed." Woolsey told him. "And, being out lead experts on the Wraith, Sheppard and his team were sent to investigate them. We lost contact with them a week ago."

"And you didn't send anyone after them?" Gibbs asked, sitting up straighter. He couldn't believe it, and O'Neill apparently agreed, because he scowled at the agent.

"Of course we did. But those deaths have occurred in five different countries, and Sheppard and his team weren't exactly sticking to one place. They'd checked in, said they had a lead in Germany, but couldn't tell us where it would go. The next day, they didn't check in."

"The Daedalus has scanned the entire planet," Lorne added. "They didn't pick up any transmitters that were unaccounted for."

"We know where they are," McGee told them, elbows on the table. "Sheppard called from a payphone in Gdansk, Poland."

Woolsey and O'Neill shared another look. "Which means they'd at least gotten back from Germany," the General surmised. "But why would he call you, Agent Gibbs?"

Gibbs' eyebrows rose. "I was about to ask the same question. Why wouldn't Sheppard just call someone in the SGC?"

O'Neill scowled. "Well, when you find him, can you let me know? And at the same time, ask him what he was thinking, giving you _my_ number."

That brought a round of pauses and confused glances. Finally after a moment, Gibbs looked back at the Air Force General. "Excuse me?"

"You want us to find them?" Ziva demanded, sitting forward. "Don't you have someone…"

"Better?" McGee supplied. "I mean, someone with more experience in the Wraith than us. We don't even know what they look like!"

O'Neill shook his head. "A, we're not sure where the Wraith are, because in their last transmission, Sheppard said Teyla still couldn't sense them."

"Sense them?" Gibbs demanded, eyebrows rising, interrupting the General. He didn't know much about the Wraith, but he knew enough. Enough to know he didn't want anything to do with them. And to know that someone was able to sense them was… strange, to say the least

O'Neill glanced at Woolsey. "You didn't tell them about that, huh?" The balding man shrugged and the general sighed, and looked back. "Yes, Teyla can sense them. She has some Wraith DNA."

"But as Dr Weir pointed out to the IOA and SGC when they found out, that makes her about as different from you, Gibbs, as DiNozzo is, because of his ATA gene," Woolsey told them all pointedly.

DiNozzo shifted uncomfortably. "Aren't these Wraith the same ones that nearly made me, and Sheppard, McKay, and a quarter of the people on Atlantis go crazy cause of some virus they made? And you want us to go up against them?"

Giving the younger man a stern look, O'Neill scowled. "Like I said, the Wraith aren't in Poland." He paused and then shrugged. "Or they weren't a week ago. But it doesn't matter, because it's just your job to find Sheppard and his team. You'll be taking Major Lorne and a team of marines with you just in case you do come across anything you can't handle."

"I never said…" DiNozzo began to argue back, but he quickly shut his mouth when O'Neill glared at him.

Gibbs, on the other hand, wasn't put off by the gaze. "In case you hadn't noticed, General, Poland is kind of out of NCIS jurisdiction."

O'Neill's gaze shifted to him. "Thank you, Agent Gibbs, you're right, what was I thinking." He gave a growl. "Look, we've put some thought into this-."

"How much thought?" Gibbs demanded, standing up. If some Air Force General thought he was going to put his team in jeopardy without even being asked, he had another thing coming. The Air Force had no authority over him. "You've known Sheppard's team is even alive for, what? Ten minutes? Less?"

O'Neill leaned down on the table, not put off either, and not liking the challenge. "We put some _fast_ thought into this, Agent Gibbs. And the fact is, you're the best option for not only finding Colonel Sheppard and his team, but for bringing them home. Believe me, I don't want to use a bunch of civilians for something like this. But SG-1 through 5 are off world, and no one else has enough experience to deal with something like this. You're the only option."

"We were considering calling you in before," Woolsey interrupted, glancing between the two grey-haired men, obviously uncomfortable with the tension. He wasn't the only one; Lorne shifted on his feet, while Zelenka was looking everywhere but the table. The NCIS team just tried not to call attention to themselves. "Agent Gibbs, we need you and your team if we're going to find Colonel Sheppard and his."

Gibbs sighed, and leaned back, moving away from the table. O'Neill stayed where he was, a deep scowl plastered on his face. Ignoring it, Gibbs shook his head and sighed. "What else do you know?"

O'Neill nodded, and stood up straight. "Right. So, Hive was blown up a month ago, courtesy of Atlantis and Sheppard's team. Atlantis landed in the Pacific and floated towards America. A week later, we got the first report of a death where it looked like the years had just been sucked out of a young man in Poland. In Gdansk."

Lorne moved towards the screen at the other end of the table and clicked a remote. A map of Europe came up, complete with eight dots. DiNozzo nodded. "Those are the places where the rapid… the Wraith deaths occurred."

Lorne nodded, looking to O'Neill for permission to continue. "Another three died before we got confirmation it was Wraith, or something close enough to warrant us checking it out. Colonel Sheppard, Dr McKay, Teyla and Ronon flew to Gdansk immediately, seeing as, at that stage, two of the four deaths had occurred there."

"That was two weeks ago," Woolsey cut in. "Sheppard and his team moved about, going to Germany, Ukraine, the Czech Republic and Denmark as well as Poland. But they were focusing on Gdansk."

"Because the majority of the deaths occurred there," Gibbs guessed, remembering DiNozzo's earlier comment. "And a week ago, you lost contact with them?"

Lorne nodded. "I took a team looking, but there was no sign of them. Their motel rooms had been tossed, and any personal items taken. No one claimed to have _ever_ seen them, but most of them were scared. And we couldn't find any trace they had ever been in Gdansk besides the tossed rooms."

"Until ten minutes ago," O'Neill concluded. "We don't know who took them. It could very well have been the Wraith, but there haven't been any deaths in Gdansk for at least a week, so we don't think so."

"Then who?" DiNozzo asked, looking at each Stargate personnel with a confused glance. "The government? Local gangs? Who?"

"Not the government," Woolsey said with a shake of his head. "The Polish government knows about the Stargate program, but they don't know anything about the Wraith being on Earth, and we would like to keep it that way. Enough people don't trust us with the Stargate as is. They had no clue Colonel Sheppard and his team were anything but tourists. That was why they flew in, so they would have passports and everything, just so nothing looks out of the ordinary."

"Besides, the CIA and FBI have been looking into it, on the down low," O'Neill cut in. "And they haven't heard anything from the government about any prisoner Air Force colonels and aliens from another galaxy."

Gibbs leaned down on the back of his chair and paused for a moment. It wasn't much to go on, but he had committed himself, and his team, now. Besides, the colonel needed someone to pull his ass out of the fire.

"So, are we flying in?"

Woolsey nodded. "Yes. It's too much of a risk to beam you in, as much as time is getting away from us. You'll have an hour to get your passports and gear, and then you're on the next flight to Poland."

"You need to be careful," O'Neill continued. "We'd rather not have to word Poland up about the fact that we didn't tell them about the life-sucking aliens in their country. But we need you to work quickly. That team's life is hanging in the balance."

Gibbs stood up straight and prepared to leave the conference room, not liking the general's last words. As his team filed out, he walked closer to the other man, not meeting his eyes.

"No pressure or anything."

O'Neill stared at him stonily. "No, Agent Gibbs. There is definitely pressure. I want my people back." He turned to face the agent and Gibbs did the same. "Sheppard has been prepared to vouch for you twice, Agent Gibbs. And he hasn't been wrong yet. I just hope his faith doesn't fall flat when it's his disappearance you're investigating."

* * *

Suddenly everything was moving, and words filtered in through Sheppard's ears as he tried to focus, tried to move past the exhaustion and pain and heavy limbs and cold. Most of all the cold.

"…_Męszczyzna, bez dowodu…"_

He tried to focus, not realizing it wouldn't do him any good anyway, tried to focus on those words. Only his head throbbed, and he groaned, too soft for anyone to hear him.

"_Znaleźony w zatoce, nie przytomny. Bez zmiany w drodze do szpitala…"_

"_Sir, can you tell me your name."_

Everything went out of focus again, and he tried to shift, only his chest felt heavy, everything was heavy, and he just wanted to sleep. But he couldn't, he knew, because they were still out there, and his team, they needed him to be strong, to stay silent, just for a little bit longer.

"McKay…" Sheppard tried to get out, calling for his team. Where were they? "Teyla?"

"_Ma trzy rany postrzałowe. Jedną w klatce pierśowej, jedną w ręce, i __jedną w nodze."_

Oh, God, his team, where were they! He tried shifting again, but he couldn't move, couldn't escape. Where was he? Where was he?

His eyes flew open, only to shut again as bright lights assaulted them, and he flinched away, heart rate soaring. No, he couldn't be here, he had to get them all out!

Suddenly there was a hand on his chest, and he bucked, trying to escape the bindings keeping him strapped to this bed, or whatever it was.

"Sir, please calm down!"

It was a voice. A real voice, but he didn't know it. He tried opening his eyes again, but the lights were too bright, and he shied away, bucking again, needing desperately to escape. What were they up to this time, what new ways did they have planned?

"Sir, please, you are in hospital, and you are safe."

The voice again, soothing and calm, but heavily accented, just like _they_ had been heavily accented when they had – no, he couldn't go there, not when it sent his heart rate through the roof. No, he just had to get out of there, out of their grips.

"Sir, please -."

"Są znaki tortury."

There was a heavy sigh, and Sheppard wrenched his eyes open, flinching sharply as the lights dug into his skull, but he forced himself to endure it, forced himself to take his surroundings in, gritting his teeth to choke back the screams when they came.

"Proszę podać środek uspokający."

He looked across to what the doctor was reaching out for, eyes going wider as he saw the needle. No! Knowing exactly what she was going to do, even if he didn't speak whatever language she was speaking, he strained again, tried to get free. He almost had it, almost had one hand…

Suddenly the needle was just there, and he jerked away.

"No!" he shouted, nearly twisting his wrist as it came free, but ignoring the shooting pain as he reached out and grabbed her arm before she could grab his.

The entire emergency department went still.

"Please," he begged hoarsely. "Don't put me to sleep."

Two guards were moving forward, but the woman held out her other hand, motioning for them to stop. They obeyed, but out of the corner of his eye, he could see they didn't like it.

"Will you stop struggling?" the woman asked, her accent heavy, her voice stern. He nodded quickly, getting his bearings even as he spoke, breathing hard. He was in hospital. And he was safe, for now. But Ronon, Teyla and McKay were nowhere to be found. And he was hurting like hell. But he was safe.

The woman nodded, reaching for the needle with her other hand oh so slowly, before handing it off. Taking a deep breath, he let her go relaxed a little as the paramedic continued to wheel him into a cubicle.

At least now he could get out of here as soon as he was alone.

They unstrapped him, lifted him into a second bed, jostling his injuries slightly, making him grimace. The woman stayed, a few nurses – and one of the guards, he noticed without surprise – with her as they started working on him.

He blinked, the adrenaline dying and exhaustion kicking back in. He blinked again, and turned to the woman, head feeling thick. "Why am I wet?"

The woman shared a look with the nurse nearest to her before answering. "You were found in the bay," she told him slowly. "You also have three gun shot wounds, numerous fractures and probably a concussion."

He blinked again, feeling stupid. Somewhere there was crashing sound; the guard turned and left, frowning. "Oh. Yeah."

God, he felt slow. Thick, like a fog was settling over his mind. Had she given him something? He didn't think she had, but who knew. He was too tired to worry, the bed too comfortable after a week sleeping on stone, if he had been allowed to – no, he refused to think of that now. His eyes closed slowly.

Three gun shots sounded out in the emergency department, and his eyes flew open as two soft somethings – no doubt the security – hit the ground outside the cubicle. He bolted up right, breathing heavily, pain pushed back as he listened.

"Gdzie on jest? Gdzie on jest!"

The doctor shared a look with him where she had paused in her examination. A fourth gunshot sounded out, and people started screaming, crying. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and hoped his boots didn't squelch.

"Gdzie on jest!"

"Kto?" someone demanded, and Sheppard knew instantly they had asked 'who?' And he knew what the answer would be.

"Amerykanin, gdzie on jest?"

The doctor looked at him again, and he swallowed, moving silently to the curtains and peering out.

Three men stood in the department, each wielding a semi-automatic while the doctors, nurses and patients huddled on the floor.

And he had thought he was safe.

He moved back slowly as the men looked back. The doctor looked at him, at his wounds more, and then shook her head. She twisted her neck around, gesturing behind her and spoke again, this time in a whisper.

"That way," she told him. "It is hidden, if you duck. You will be able to make it to a stairwell. It leads up. Find a fire exit. I will try to hold them off."

Sheppard shook his head. "No. Just tell them." He didn't want people hurt because of him. But he couldn't move, couldn't make himself go back. He would let her give him in, but he felt like his legs were rooted to the ground. He couldn't hand himself over.

He couldn't go back there, and she could see every single inch of that emotion laid bare in his eyes.

"No," she told him sharply, though still whispering, shaking her head, looking frightened. "You know those men. I will not give you to them for a second turn. Go now."

"Don't," he begged, but she wasn't going to listen. She just grabbed his wrist and pulled him over, pushing him out of the cubicle and down. By the time he was on his feet, she had moved towards the men.

"Nie ma go tu. Nie dawno wyszedł."

One of the men growled, and Sheppard knew his time was up. Swearing to himself, he turned and ran.

Then there was another shot, and a woman's scream of pain, and he flinched, stopping, not able to just leave, as much as his team's life depended on it, as much as his heart hammered, and his mouth felt dry. Wondering whether he would get the chance to regret this, he turned and ran back, storming through the cubicle curtains, sure they weren't going to shoot him. Again, anyway.

"You wanted me," he told them. "Here I am."

The tallest man smirked, putting his gun away as two nurses helped his doctor move back. She wasn't dead, but she looked guilty. Probably at him being back.

"I see, Sheppard," the leader answered in his own thick accent. "But are you brave or just stupid?"

"I'm going to go with stupid," he muttered as he moved with the man, circling each other. He couldn't believe he was doing this. This being preparing to fight a man stronger than him under normal circumstances, and normal circumstances being when he wasn't wavering on his feet, half dead, bordering hypothermic and just pulled out of the ocean.

And then the man rushed him, and there was no more time for thinking.

He blocked the first roundhouse punch, wincing as it hit his bruised forearm, and then trying a swing himself, but lower, trying to use surprise and tact rather than brute force.

It didn't work, and all he got for his trouble were sore knuckles. And the rage beginning to do a slow boil in his stomach. He couldn't go back.

The man chuckled and slammed a fist hard into his face. Sheppard saw double for a moment, nearly fell to the ground, but he refused to go down. Instead he put all his strength into the force behind a hard right and smashed it as hard as he could into the taller man's face.

He still didn't go down, but that hadn't been what Sheppard was aiming for. Knowing he wasn't going to win this fight any honourable way, he took the moment of distraction and grabbed the gun from the guy's holster.

Before the tall Pole could even register that his weapon had been stolen, Sheppard had stepped back and pulled the trigger. His sight back to normal, his aim was perfect, and the man dropped with a bullet in his temple.

The other two cronies moved as more people cried out, ducking heads, but Sheppard didn't waste any time listening to them, bringing the gun up and shooting one of them before he could move more than a foot. Then he shifted aim again in the suddenly quiet emergency to look directly at the third and last cronie. Only this time he hadn't been fast enough.

"Drop the gun," the Pole ordered, shoving his own weapon harder against the head of the woman he was holding hostage. Then the other man smirked. "You not want to hit her, Sheppard."

Taking a step forward, testing the weight of the gun, and remembering clearly what it had felt like the last two shots, Sheppard gave a slight shake of his head and snarled. "I won't."

And his third shot took the guy cleanly between the eyes as the woman screamed.

Ignoring the bloodbath, and the stunned spectators, Sheppard limped forward, searching the men quickly and roughly, already hearing police sirens. Well, if they could find him in a hospital, they could get him in a police station. He had to get out of here.

He grabbed a second gun, ignored the pained groans of the second man he had shot and the voice telling him to kill that guy as well, and grabbed his wallet instead. He was going to need cash. And the spare magazines he found.

So, armed, ready, and slowly dipping back into exhaustion, Sheppard jogged back the way the doctor had shown him, ignoring all the looks, ignoring the pain, only two thoughts on his mind.

Getting his team free, and staying that way.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note:** My bad, about last night, but expect it again. As my regulars (lol, I have regulars!) will know, I try to post each night, but my life has been particularly needy lately...

Hope everyone enjoys SGU (for those who are giving it a go) and just so you know, i'm considering it a personal bday gift, lol, yep, 21 today, i'm super-excited! just don't tell anyone it's more so for new Stargate, finally!

Oh, and thanks for all the love!

* * *

**Chapter 3:**

"You know, I've always wanted to visit Poland."

DiNozzo rolled his eyes as he heard McGee muttering behind him, even as he kept his arm looped in Ziva's. That was their cover, if anyone in this sorry excuse for an airport stopped them to question their intentions.

It had been a long flight: a normally just over nine hours hell ride, in economy no less, had turned into just over ten, thanks to bad weather and bad turbulence that made DiNozzo wish for the smooth rides of the Daedalus and Atlantis' puddle jumpers. Ever since flying in them – well, in the case of the puddle jumper, he had flown it himself, and there was something he never stopped bringing up – he just could not handle planes. He missed the speed, the inertial dampeners and the way cool knowledge that he was flying faster than most Air Force pilots could ever dream of.

He leaned in closer to Ziva, keeping an easy, satisfied smile on his face. "You know, I still don't know why they couldn't just beam us in like they did Lorne and his men."

Ziva looked up at him, her eyes telling him he shouldn't be bringing this up in a public place. "You know very well why," she told him in a sweet voice that belied the seriousness behind her words. "Lorne and his men were already 'in' the country. If anyone here were to question us, and check our passports… we, nor the SGC, can afford publicity."

"Still, a lot can happen in ten hours," DiNozzo reminded her. "I mean, we have to find this pay phone that Sheppard used and -."

A grey head brushed past him, whispering in a very annoyed voice without ever turning that silver top. "If you two want to ruin our anonymity, just keep on talking."

DiNozzo fell silent as Gibbs continued walking past them, coat in one hand, suitcase in the other, apparently here by himself, just like McGee behind them. Still, Tony thought he had a valid point. Sheppard, Ronon, Teyla and McKay had been missing for a week and ten hours. Twelve, considering they had caught the flight an hour after Sheppard had called, and it had taken them another hour to get out of Gdansk customs. He sighed, and lifted his own suitcase, wishing they could move this along.

"We're not talking that loud," Tony complained to Ziva when he was sure Gibbs was out of earshot. She shook her head and looked up at him, the warning in her eyes totally missing from the rest of her face.

"We are being watched," she told him silently, staring for a single second to their left as she looked away from him. "Or at least, the airport is. Be quiet, Tony."

He took her advice, and tried not to look at where she had pointed, sighing again when he saw the weather outside. Unlike McGee, he had never had the desire to visit Poland. And certainly not when winter was so close.

And certainly not when it was pouring with rain outside. This time Ziva sighed as they paused just before the exit, watching the downpour. "Well, this just makes it so much better." He coughed, and then lowered his voice. "Any leftover evidence is going to be washed away."

She nodded, and then pulled him out into the rain, hunching her shoulders as they were both immediately soaked.

Thankfully they weren't in it too long. Almost straight away, a black umbrella covered their heads, being held by a big looking young man in civilian clothes, but with a distinctive buzz cut.

"Oh, thank God," DiNozzo muttered, shaking his head and getting water all over Ziva. She glared up at him, but he didn't get the problem. "What? You're already wet, it's not like it matters."

The marine-turned-'civilian' grunted and then nodded at a car. "If you don't mind, sir, ma'am. We've got a CO to find."

Not needing the reminder, both DiNozzo and Ziva turned their gaze to the marine, but he seemed oblivious as he led them over, opening the back door of the black sedan for them both after taking their suitcases.

A minute later they were pulling out of the airport, and the marine looked in the rearview mirror at the two of them. "Lieutenant Andrew Trohman," he introduced with a nod of his head. "I'll be your protection this morning. Please make sure you're seated and buckled in, the ride could get bumpy."

DiNozzo shared a look with Ziva. "Uh, hey, Lieutenant. You're one of Lorne's, then?"

"Yessir," Trohman nodded, moving his eyes back to the road. "Been here since Colonel Sheppard and his team went missing. Hoping you can shed some light on that."

"So are we, Lieutenant," Ziva told him, staring out the window. "Where are we going?"

"Major Lorne figured you'd wanna dump your gear at the motel before heading out to pick up the trail. As I understand, the SGC already booked your rooms for you – you two have a shared room, so should be cosy. And when you get in, Major Lorne'll bring over the gear you got beamed down with him."

"So, have you found any sign of Colonel Sheppard, or his team, Lieutenant?" DiNozzo asked, leaning forward in the seat, already hating the feeling of his shirt sticking to his back. And hoping there were two beds in the hotel room he was sharing with Ziva. The woman had an unbelievable snore, and being in the same bed as her was… dangerous.

Trohman shook his head. "No, sir. It's like they just disappeared off the face of the earth. But they haven't." He gave a grin. "The SGC already checked."

The car began slowing down, and that was when Ziva nodded. "I assume those two cars behind us are Agent Gibbs and McGee?"

Trohman grinned again as DiNozzo looked around to see which cars she was talking about. "That's right, ma'am," he answered as he pulled up outside a stone building with a dozen windows, balconies and a wide set of doors ready to greet anyone. "Welcome to your lovely accommodation for however long it takes to find the colonel, the doc, Ronon and Teyla."

His words sounded ominous, and almost threatening, but DiNozzo was sure that was just the rain making him paranoid. Trohman got out first and held the umbrella for the two of them again, keeping them covered until they reached the doors. Behind their car, two other marines were helping Gibbs and McGee out of their own transportation, and DiNozzo couldn't help but wince at how obvious it looked.

But there was nothing he could do about it as he walked up to the desk and gave his name. At least now they were dry.

* * *

The same couldn't be said an hour later.

Scowling to himself, DiNozzo followed McGee down yet another alley way, the stench of fish and something he couldn't quite put his finger on heavy in the air, making him want to sneeze and gag all at the same time.

"Come on, McGee," he ordered. "Just find the damn phone already."

"That would be nice," Lieutenant Trohman added as he shrugged further into his jacket. "It's damn freezing out here."

"Oh, the big tough marine can't handle a little cold," DiNozzo taunted, to a scowl from Trohman. "But seriously, probie, what are you doing, ordering pizza?"

The younger agent gave him a scowl, and looked back down at the machine in his hands. Apparently it was some kind of GPS, but after that the explanation had become long-winded and boring as all hell, so Tony had naturally tuned out. All he needed to know was that it was going to find the payphone Sheppard had called from, and hopefully it would do it before this rain washed them away with all the potential evidence to where Sheppard and his team had disappeared after calling Gibbs.

"I know it's around here somewhere," McGee muttered, wiping at the plastic cover over the precious machine so he could study it better. "It's all this rain, it's screwing with the readings."

"Sure," DiNozzo allowed. "Cause they wouldn't have taken that into account at all."

They stepped out of the smelly alley into another, wider, but just as smelly road and Tony looked up and down. McGee just shook his head.

"Look, it's around here somewhere. I just know it is."

Rolling his eyes and hitting McGee across the chest, DiNozzo pointed down the road. "Found it."

"And how would you know…" McGee began with some snap, trailing off as he lifted his head.

"Oh."

DiNozzo smirked. "You've listened to the recording. The phone Sheppard was on was probably destroyed. And that phone certainly looks destroyed."

McGee shook his head as they approached it, Trohman silent on their heels. "Understatement of the century. Jesus, it's completely destroyed."

"Not quite," Trohman argued. "I mean, it's still standing."

DiNozzo was inclined to agree, but he didn't say anything, just stopped before the remains, staring at it. Then he cocked his head. "Shot at least twice."

It was a mangled heap. The surrounding plastic was mostly intact, but the box itself had two big holes in it, one over the dial pad, the other over the coin slot. The phone itself was hanging still, but then DiNozzo figured if he had been hearing gun shots late at night, in this part of the city at least, he wouldn't have done anything either.

"Not sure how much I'd be able to get out of this," McGee warned them, squatting down. Then he grunted. "Actually, I won't be able to get anything out of it." He shook his head. "Someone already beat us here. Wonder if it was the cops or whoever took Sheppard's team."

As DiNozzo shared a look with Trohman, McGee pulled out a pen and used it to pull the phone closer, to take a better look. "It's got blood on it," he told them quietly.

"The colonel?" Trohman demanded, shifting.

DiNozzo figured that was a fair bet. "He was the one who called," he said gently. He didn't like the idea of Sheppard being injured any more than the marine. "But until we find him, we won't know for sure. McGee take some swabs."

"What do you think though?" Trohman asked as McGee put a hand in his pockets. DiNozzo shrugged.

"I think we should try to find any casings the police missed," the older man suggested, shrugging against the rain. "Not that I think we'll find anything in this monsoon, but who knows. You go look that way," and he pointed down towards the docks. "And I'll call Gibbs while I search up here. Lieutenant, you wanna help McGiggles?"

Trohman frowned. "I don't know, there's no one else out here to watch over you. The major'd kick my ass if I let anything happen to you."

"You said it yourself, lieutenant," DiNozzo told him, grabbing his phone. "There's no one else out here. Besides, Lorne's decked us out with all kinds of fancy toys that shoot. I'll be fine, I'm only going twenty metres, tops."

Trohman sighed and nodded, trailing after McGee as they walked the other way. DiNozzo dialled his boss' number as he walked up the slope back the way they had come.

Gibbs picked up instantly. "What have you got, DiNozzo?"

"Found the pay phone, boss," Tony told him, making sure Trohman was out of earshot. The last thing he needed on his hands was an unstable marine. "Whoever was after Sheppard must have beat us to it, whatever McGee was looking for is gone. And there's blood on the it."

"So Sheppard was injured."

DiNozzo nodded as he searched the walls, the gutters, the cornices between pavement and brick wall. "That's a safe assumption. But there's no blood on the phone box, so far as I could see, so he wasn't hit while on the phone. He went somewhere else."

"I agree, the rain couldn't have washed it away that quickly. According to Lorne, it's only been raining for about two hours. Since last night, anyway."

"Lovely," DiNozzo muttered as he moved closer to the wall. "Must have brought it with us."

Gibbs didn't answer to that. "Get a sample of the blood from the phone, and try to find a trail to follow. If you don't find anything by nightfall… just head on back. Ziva and I are almost done with their motel rooms, we'll let you know if we find anything."

Gibbs hung up quickly, but DiNozzo didn't feel hard done by. He just looked up the alley he, McGee and Trohman had walked down, and then continued up the slope, heading for the main road back into the city.

It was quiet still, even as he reached the road, and he looked up, trying to spot anything. A lone car drove by, but besides a worried look for the man standing by himself in the rain, it paid him no attention.

Picking a direction, Tony turned right, away from the city. He figured any sane person would head towards people and hoped to find a trail to follow back to a secret hideout. He almost turned around when he remembered what Sheppard actually did for a living – life sucking aliens and floating cities that could fly, and all that which wasn't sane. But he also figured that if anyone was hiding any top-secret teams away from prying eyes, they would do it as far away from the city as possible, so he hoped there would be something between it and where he had started.

He walked along, eyes on the ground, trying to pretend he was just some random. Yeah, some random who searched every nook and cranny he could see in the pavement.

But he wouldn't have found the gun any other way.

His heart skipped a beat as his eyes passed over the solid black against the perpetual grey of the rain and pavement clashing with the brown of the bricks, and he knew instantly what he was looking at. Something which he hadn't really expected to find, somehow still sitting there just waiting for him. Searching the surrounds for any suspicious activity, or anyone at all, he licked his lips – unnecessary really, with all the wet drenching him – before bending down to pick up the discarded Glock, grabbing a plastic bag from his pocket and trying to put the gun in there as inconspicuously as possible.

He had a quick look at it, holding it up against the grey sky to check it out. There was some blood on the handle, not much. It was also empty. He wondered who had been using this. He also wondered how the police has missed it. Ziva had told him some things about Poland on the flight over, and though he had tried desperately to sleep instead, he had heard enough to know that Poland wasn't exactly the kind of place where the cops would ignore a gun fight in the middle of the warehouse district. So what had changed since Ziva had been here last?

Standing up as he pocketed the empty gun, he looked around, spotting seven spent cartridges. Someone had made a stand here. Against the wall, too, he noticed, judging by the blood stain about shoulder height if someone were on their knees. He picked up the shells and put them in the other bag he had with him. Then he grabbed a swab out of his other pocket, wondered what would happen if someone searched his clothes, and took a sample of the blood before grabbing his phone once more and ringing McGee.

"Hey, I found something," he said as soon as the probie picked up.

"Me too," McGee told him.

"Is yours as good as mine?" DiNozzo asked, standing up and pocketing the swab.

"No," McGee retorted before he even knew what DiNozzo's find was. "Mine is really not good at all."

Tony picked up on the tone in his voice. "What is it?" he demanded, feeling his gut going cold.

McGee sighed. "I found boot treads, down by the docks. Looks like someone fell, or was pushed into the water." He paused. "And Lieutenant Trohman says it's Atlantis issue boot tread."

* * *

Leaving Ziva at the hotel room to go through what they had already, Gibbs took Lorne and met back up with Tony and McGee at the mangled telephone, eyeing it quickly before he did the same to the surrounding area. A meeting like this, in the back streets of Gdansk between a bunch of men, was sure to pique interest.

"Heya, boss," DiNozzo greeted softly, obviously aware of the same thing as Gibbs. "Major."

Lorne stopped beside Gibbs and nodded his head in greeting. "What have you found?" he demanded before Gibbs could.

DiNozzo glanced at his boss, who gave the slightest nod, before continuing. "McGee and me both found a trail," he began heavily. "We're assuming I found the path leading to the phone." He nodded towards the road where Lorne had parked their rental. "I found a gun, more blood and casings." He tapped his pocket, and they all heard the rattle. "There were also a few shards of glass that look like they come from a car, but nothing to indicate exactly what had happened. Not anymore than at the phone, anyway."

_Sheppard dropped the receiver as the first shot blasted right by his chest, missing him by inches. "Shit!" he shouted, even as the line went dead. A second shot missed him again, but he got the picture. "Run! Run!"_

_McKay was down, but still breathing as Ronon hauled him to his feet, even as bullets continued whizzing past them. With the main road cut off by cars, men and guns, Sheppard had no choice but to grab Teyla where she was leaning against the wall, looking faint, but still shooting, and turning her around, dragging her along with him._

"_Run!"_

"Lieutenant Trohman and I walked down towards the docks," McGee continued. "We found a few drops of blood here and there, nothing too serious but enough to follow. And then..." He and the lieutenant shared a look. "Well, maybe you should see it for yourselves."

He turned and took the lead, Trohman by his side. The others quickly fell into step, and noticing, McGee continued talking.

"We only walked maybe... 200 feet. It wasn't far." He pointed down to where the old docks stretched over the bay. "We followed the trail down there. We didn't find any casings, or guns, but it's downhill, and it has been raining."

"We did find tyre tracks, in the mud," Trohman told them. "Two different cars, coming from two directions, and it looks like they were chasing someone."

_Tyres squealed on the road, but by then Sheppard and his team were at the end of the path, and it wasn't looking good anyway._

"_Shit!" Sheppard shouted again, hitting a fist on his thigh and reawakening the old bullet wound there in his efforts. But they had no choice, nowhere else to go, and they all knew it._

"Go figure," DiNozzo muttered. Not low enough, seeing as everyone looked at him. "Oh come on, since when doesn't Sheppard have someone after him?"

Trohman and Lorne shared a glance and remained suspiciously quiet. McGee just shook his head. "Anyway, as we were saying. The cars came to a halt at the edge of the docks, where the mud meets the wood. It's open, no buildings, but as open as it is, Sheppard and his team would have been trapped."

They had reached it by then, and everyone could see what he meant as they too emerged from the limited shelter of the buildings to the open expanse before the grey of the bay.

Gibbs could see one set of tyre tracks himself now, two wheel trails belonging to – at his best guess – some kind of van. So maybe the guys who were responsible for the disappearance of the Atlantis team had been trying to catch them.

Again.

He ducked down by one of the tyre tracks, looking at how it deepened abruptly, mud kicked up either side like it was heavy and it had stopped before moving on. "Either of you got a camera?"

McGee and DiNozzo looked at each other, and Gibbs knew it was the one thing they had forgotten. "We didn't want to look to conspicuous, boss," DiNozzo answered.

Lorne rolled his eyes and pulled out a phone. "It's got a camera," he explained as he tossed it to Gibbs. The older man just looked at him.

"Ah, here," DiNozzo offered, stepping forward. "I'll do that while McGee tells you the rest of the story."

"Right," McGee caught on. "Like I said on the phone, we found the spot where someone with Atlantis issue boots fell into the water. Over here." He led them over to the edge of the docks, where the mud lay over the wood of the disused pier. "But after we got off the phone to you, we found the second tyre tracks, coming from over there."

He pointed to his right as he faced the road. "We figure they were trying to cut the team off, stop them from escaping either way." Gibbs nodded, agreeing with the theory, as McGee continued. "We also found drag marks. Three of them, leading to the tyre tracks. The other three members, I'm guessing. There's also blood, which we have samples of. Actually we've been lucky in the evidence."

"Well, I'm glad we are," Lorne muttered. "But what happened to my CO and his team?"

"Three of them were captured," Gibbs explained with a sigh. "Recaptured, probably. And the fourth got away."

"By jumping into the bay," DiNozzo interrupted a touch harshly.

McGee shook his head though, his face dark. "I don't think they jumped."

_A shot sounded out, just like any other shot, but Teyla cried out and slipped from Sheppard's grip. He stopped immediately, trying to grab her under her arms, to haul her up, as much as it killed his ribs. But she pushed him away instead, still incredibly strong even as it made her wince with the pain. _

"_Go, John!" she called over the rain. "Just… leave."_

"_Hell no!" Sheppard snapped, half-dropping, half-falling to one knee beside her. "We all make it or none of us do."_

_He glanced around quickly to check where Ronon and McKay were, spotted them firing at the two vans that had them cornered, trying not to get shot in return. What happened to the good old days when the enemy used stunners instead of bullets?_

"_Come on, we can do this," Sheppard muttered, a little breathless as he grabbed Teyla's arm once more._

_She pushed him away, crying out as she pulled on her dislocated shoulder. "No, John," she told him, looking down, and then around. "One of us needs to get away. One of needs to contact the SGC and let them know. You need to leave us!"_

"_We don't leave people behind!" he snapped back at her, but she was shoving her stolen Beretta into his hands._

"_Please, John. We need you free! Rodney, Ronon… me, we're all too hurt. You're the only one…"_

_She was struggling to get the words out, and Sheppard hit his un-shot thigh, needing to scream with frustration. Then he grabbed her hand and gave it a tight squeeze. "I'll get you out!" he told her, before springing to his feet and running in the opposite direction to the vans, hoping he could use the docks to hide amongst the shadows._

_No such luck as a whole barrage of bullets hit the ground around him, forcing him to a halt as the headlights of the vans illuminated him._

_Breath misting in the air, chest heaving, ribs pounding, he turned around to face them, the three men coming towards him slowly, their faces too dark for him to make out, while the lights from the vans was too bright in his eyes. But he could see enough._

_He could see Teyla being hauled to her feet, could see Ronon lying facedown in the mud with two people kneeling on his back, McKay wincing as he was forced to his knees. Could see the dozen men who had been sent out to track them down. He could see their confidence that they had him trapped._

_What he couldn't see was a way out._

"_Sheppard," one of them called, the English sounding strange in his Polish accent. "Put the gun down."_

_He didn't listen, hand shifting over the handle, wondering how many bullets he did have left in the magazine, wondering how many Teyla had managed to get off. He guessed it was safe to assume he didn't have many at all._

"_Sheppard, we are warning you," the same voice called, promising. The men walked closer. "Move and we shoot you."_

_He didn't have a choice. He could take these three out, he was sure – okay, hopeful – of it. They had already proven to be bad shots. He could take out these three and run in the confusion. _

_He eyed the three men, Teyla's words ringing in his ears. One of them had to stay free, one of them had to get word to the SGC. One of them had to rescue the others._

_He made his choice in a split instant, pulling the gun up and shooting one of the men in the chest – the safest option considering his exhaustion and wavering sight._

_But that was all he got time for before the two other men retaliated. Two shots went off, and he grunted as one hit him hard in the shoulder, making him spin, the world moving fast around him as he fell off the edge of the docks and fell down, down._

_The last thing he heard was three frantic, incoherent screams before he hit the icy water._

* * *

Why yes, you're right, my Poles do speak amazingly good English!

Lol, hopefully see you tomorrow night!


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note:** Oh, you're lucky to be getting this tonight! Stupid essays, I hate them, grr, and since when are holidays so short? Where'd all that time go? Wish me luck as I pull the second all nighter for the semester!

Also, not sure if Ziva actually speaks Polish, but in my 'verse, she does!

* * *

**Chapter 4**

There was a pause as Gibbs finished his report. Then O'Neill's annoyed voice came over the phone. "So, what you're basically telling us… is that you haven't gotten anywhere."

Gibbs scowled, though only Sergeant Walker could see it. "No. I'm telling you that three of them were recaptured and another feel into the Bay of Gdańsk."

"Oh," O'Neill drawled. "I'm sorry. That still sounds like you haven't found my team yet."

"We've been here three hours, General," Gibbs reminded him wryly. "Give us a chance."

"Is it possible whoever fell into the bay survived?" Woolsey cut in before – at least, Gibbs assumed before – O'Neill could say another biting remark.

"Anything's possible," Gibbs answered. "I have McGee and Major Lorne taking a look around the area, looking for any signs that anyone crawled out of the bay. Trohman and DiNozzo are trying to back track from the spot DiNozzo found -."

"Inconspicuously, I hope," Woolsey interrupted. Surprisingly it was O'Neill who answered.

"Give over, Woolsey," the general reprimanded. "Do you know how hard it's going to be for them to stay completely under the radar?"

"We're doing all we can," Gibbs told the two of them. "But if you want to find your team, we need to ask questions."

"Understood," Woolsey sighed. "So DiNozzo and Trohman are trying to find where the team escaped from, I assume."

Gibbs nodded to no one. "Yes. And Ziva's with Captain Dawson, asking around the hospitals, and… other places, trying to see if anyone else found whoever fell into the Bay."

That brought a round of silence, which Gibbs broke as soon as he could. "We also have some evidence that we need sent to Abby Sciuto, at NCIS."

"Not a chance in hell," O'Neill told him immediately. "Any evidence from this is not leaving Atlantis."

"Well then," Gibbs told him with some tone. "You'll just have to get Abby out to Atlantis."

"Now hang on just a minute," Woolsey began before the agent talked right over him.

"She is the best in her field," Gibbs told them both. "I trust her, she gets things done, and she gets them done fast. Besides, she already knows about Atlantis and the SGC."

That brought another round of slightly less subdued silence. "Fine." O'Neill decided. "I'll send someone to go get her. I suppose I should let Vance know why we borrowed you anyway. He's kicking up a storm in DC."

"We'll put her with Radek," Woolsey said, resigned to it. "He can show her how to use the Ancient equipment."

"Get DiNozzo to help her move, she'll give you less trouble that way," Gibbs answered before pausing, rubbing at his forehead. "We're still looking. And we're not about to give up. Say hi to Vance for me."

And he hung up, snapping the phone shut and hoping that his team was having more luck than him.

* * *

Ziva glanced across at Captain Dawson as they pulled up outside the third hospital they had on their list. The man had barely said anything since they had left the motel, and she was wondering why. Was it just concern for his CO? The way he glanced at the hospital, with twitching face suggested so.

"I take it you don't speak Polish, captain," she said as they got out of the car.

Startled out of his thoughts, Dawson glanced across at her over the top of the roof, and grinned. "I speak two languages, ma'am. English. And bad English."

They walked into the emergency room, guessing that would be where anyone would go once they pulled themselves – or were pulled out of – the Bay. Of course, that hadn't happened in the last two hospitals, but they still had plenty to check.

This could turn into an even longer day than it already was.

Ziva bit back her sigh and walked over to the desk, glad the hospital was relatively empty. Most sane people would be staying home, out of the rain, she assumed.

The blonde lady behind the desk looked up as they both approached, a polite, but wary look on her face. "Dzień dobry. Jak mogę Państwu pomóc?"

Ziva answered in Polish. "Szukamy przyjaciela. Może być amerykaninem…"

She trailed off as the nurse's eyes widened. And then the woman turned and fled, running back through the emergency department towards a woman, a doctor judging by her coat, though her arm was in a sling.

"What did you say to her?" Dawson asked. Ziva just shrugged.

"I told her we were looking for a friend of ours. That's all. Once I mentioned he could be American, she…" She gestured with her hands as the doctor glanced over at them.

Dawson nodded. "Yeah, I get the picture."

The doctor was walking towards them now, a stern glare on her face, her shoulders back in determination. She looked like a woman approaching the gallows, Ziva decided, as she shared another look with Dawson.

"Jesteście zbyt spóźnieni," she snapped at them. "Nie wiem gdzie jest. A nawet,," and her glare hardened, like she was preparing herself. "Nawet jak bym wiedziała, bym Państwu nic nie powiedziała."

Ziva was silent for a moment, but apparently Dawson was much less patient. He looked down at Ziva. "What did she say?"

The doctor blinked and then partially relaxed. She looked between Ziva and Dawson with some confusion. "You are also American?"

"He is," Ziva told her, glad to be speaking in English; she hated playing interpreter. "I am not."

"Nie, I did not think so," the doctor answered, shaking her head. She looked guilty all of a sudden. "But I did not lie. He is gone. And I do not know where he went."

"You know who we're looking for?" Dawson demanded. The doctor nodded.

"I believe I do. An American man, about your height," and she gestured at Dawson. "Perhaps a little taller. Dark hair. He was brought in maybe… fifteen hours ago."

"Sheppard," Ziva determined, and the woman nodded.

"Tak, that was what they called him."

Ziva stared at her, heart suddenly beating fast. "Who called him that?"

The woman looked down, her good hand touching her injured shoulder. "The men who came to look for him. Three of them. They knew his name. I told him to run, and I tried to distract them… but he came back when he heard me get shot."

Dawson chuckled sadly. "That sounds like the colonel," he muttered before he realised he maybe shouldn't have said anything about rank.

The doctor didn't seem surprised. "I should have known he was a soldier," she told them, lowering her voice when it became apparent it was a touchy subject. "He was… so strong. I could not believe he was even alive, when they paramedics brought him in. Not only that, but once he was awake, he was aware. And he took out those men very easily."

That definitely sounded like Sheppard, Ziva decided. "So you have no idea where he went?" she asked, still holding back that sigh.

The doctor shook her head. "Nie. I sent him out the fire escape, on the west side of the building, but I do not know if he went that way."

"And what was his condition?" Ziva asked, needing to know, as much as she really did not want to.

The doc apparently agreed, because she sighed. "He was not good. He was too thin, dehydrated, and he looked exhausted. He was bordering hypothermic, because he had been pulled out of the bay. He had three gun shot wounds, though only one was fresh. The one in his shoulder. He also had one in his thigh, and another in his arm. There were also…" She broke off for a moment, and bit her lip angrily. "There were also numerous bruises, fractures, broken ribs, burn marks… he had been beaten. Tortured."

Dawson's fist cracked, but Ziva forced herself to remain calm. "Is there anything else you can tell us?" she asked. "Do you know who those men belonged to?"

The doctor flinched and then looked around. "I could get in a lot of trouble for talking to you," she told them, eyes darting everywhere.

"Please," Dawson asked, his voice quiet. "More lives than his depends on it."

And there was the struck cord, Ziva realised. The woman was a doctor. She liked to do the right thing, and she liked saving people. She had recognised that the moment the doctor switched to her perfect English. She just hadn't thought the captain would notice it. She was going to have to start thinking more of Sheppard's men.

The doctor groaned and then shook her head. "Szymański. Gabrys Szymański."

* * *

The door slammed behind DiNozzo as he and Trohman walked into the room already occupied by the Atlantis team and Tony's younger colleagues, shaking off water and wet coats. "Well, that was a complete waste of time."

McGee looked up from where he was towel drying his head, already changed into dry, warm clothes. "No, it wasn't," he answered. "You would have picked up on it if anyone was being held captive down there."

"And at least we have a lead now," Ziva reminded them, leaning against the door way. "Gabrys Szymański."

DiNozzo decided to ignore her, and snatched the towel from McGee, sitting down on the end of the bed as he tried to dry himself off.

"I have to sleep on that, Tony," Ziva reminded him coldly, not liking the whole ignoring thing. DiNozzo spread his arms, still annoyed with the rain.

"This place has maids," he told her with some snap. Out of sight of everyone else, Lorne and Trohman exchanged a look, eyebrows raised.

Ziva approached Tony and smirked down at him, before looking around at all their equipment, and their findings stuck to the walls in some attempt to organise it. "Do you really think we should have a maid in here?"

DiNozzo stared at her for a moment before whipping the towel over his shoulder, and getting to his feet. "Where's Gibbs?"

"On the phone with the SGC," Ziva told him, going to back to her computer. "Again. They have him on a tight rope."

"Leash," Lorne muttered before Tony could. "And General O'Neill is only concerned about our team. Judging by the way you all keep snapping at each other, I know you are as well."

"It does not change the fact that this tight _leash_ is keeping us from doing our job," Ziva retorted, ignoring Lorne's other comment. "We should be trying to find Sheppard, or looking into Szymański."

"Already on it," McGee spoke up, grabbing his computer and logging in. "But we're going to have to find him the old-fashioned way," he warned them. "No BOLOs, or anything like that. I can try hacking into the satellite system, but someone would probably know."

"Do it anyway, McGee," Gibbs suddenly interrupted as he came in from the bathroom. "Ziva, research Szymański."

DiNozzo spread his arms again, looking lost. "Why can't I do that, boss?"

Ziva interrupted before Gibbs could speak up. "Can you even spell Szymański, Tony?"

He glared at her with forced amusement. "S-Z-Y-M-."

Gibbs interrupted before he could finish. "Ziva's doing the research because you're heading back to NCIS."

Ignoring the sharp triumph Ziva sent his way, DiNozzo's face dropped. "How come I am?"

"Because you and Dawson are helping Abby move everything she needs to Atlantis so she can work on the evidence we're getting."

There was a moment of intense silence as they all looked at each other in the slowly-becoming-crowded room. Then McGee groaned.

"She's not going to need Caf-Pow for a week."

* * *

Gritting his teeth – more from permanent frustration than from any pain, seeing as he had nice Polish version of Tylenol for that – Sheppard ignored the rain pounding on the corrugated iron above him, and kept his eye on the mansion that seemed to take up most of the space in front of him.

It was one of the biggest houses in Gdańsk, far away from the owner's more secret, illegal businesses – like holding people captive in warehouses down by the docks.

But he had already been down there, to the warehouse he and his team had been kept in, and they had cleaned it out.

So here he was, watching Szymański's house because there wasn't much more he could do except find his team, and get them _all_ the hell out of dodge. At least, nothing he could do unless he wanted to chance the dozens of people watching the stations, the airport, hell, even the public phones.

He shifted slightly and lifted the binoculars to his eye once more. Those wallets he had stolen off those men in the hospital had come in very handy.

Szymański's mansion flew into view, dark and intimidating behind it's fifteen-foot fence, with the men – complete with Glauberyts in their tight little hands, and German Shepherds on tight little leashes – patrolling just behind, and the electric gate with all kinds of electronic security like voice recognition, cameras and motion detectors. Very high tech and very expensive.

But Sheppard had already checked those out. What he needed was behind the gate, and if he couldn't get through – yet – then at least he could look.

Szymański was inside, but Sheppard already knew that McKay, Ronon and Teyla weren't. He had no clue where they were being kept – he refused to even acknowledge that little voice in the back of his head telling him they could be dead – but he was determined to find them, no matter what it took.

He focused on one of the windows in the second floor, knowing it was Szymański's oversized office. He had been watching this house for nearly five hours now, and once he had found it, he didn't intend on leaving until a new lead came up, or he had his team back.

So, wishing he could lip read, he watched Szymański on his phone, and tried to come up with a way he could get inside that house.

He wasn't sure how long he had been sitting there when the SUV pulled up outside the gate, but Szymański looked out the window, down onto the grounds of his mansion, right at the entrance. Curious, John swept the binoculars along the ground, spotting the dark car and frowning.

A minute later the gates opened and the SUV drove forward, tyres making heavy tracks in the mud. Sheppard watched its progress as it moved around the garden roundabout towards the front doors, leaning closer over the edge of the roof he was on, ignoring the rain sliding down his head.

The car stopped by the front of the house, and a man walked from the covers of the entrance with an umbrella ready and waiting for whoever was in the car. As Sheppard watched the door, Szymański came out, hands wringing as he prepared to greet his guest.

The door opened, and a man got out, balding head ignoring the rain as he gave the man with the umbrella a disdainful look. With binoculars this powerful, Sheppard could even see the way his lips curled around the sneer, and his breath hitched unwillingly.

_The bald man rolled up his shirt sleeves as he sneered, and Sheppard looked up through a puffy eye as he met that condescending gaze head on. The bald man tilted his head to the side as he took off his silk tie. _

"_They tell me you are being… problematic."_

_His voice was silky smooth, his accent polished and crisp, even as he spoke English. Sheppard stared up at him for a moment and then spat some blood out in the man's direction._

_The gob landed on his nice, white shirt, but all the man did was sigh heavily. "See, this is why I do not like having to handle things on my own. You American soldiers are all pigs."_

_Sheppard refused to answer, refused to flinch or even blink, knowing that was exactly what this guy was looking for – confirmation. But he just stared stonily at his captor._

"_I'm not saying a damn thing."_

_The man just sneered, his lips curling around his face as his eyes darkened. "Not yet you are not. But we have time."_

The binoculars almost slipped out of Sheppard's hands as he forced the flashback away, tearing his gaze off that all too familiar face and closing his eyes against all too recent memories, trying to shove them away with his fingers.

By the time he thought he could look back, the men were back inside, the SUV still parked out front. Sheppard lifted the binoculars to Szymański's office window, but he didn't find the men there either. Giving a growl of frustration, he knew he only had one option now.

The bald man was the key, the person he knew was going to lead him to his team.

He tucked the binoculars into the inner pocket of his coat and turned on the spot, going back down the stairs and past the gate he had forced open. He had a new target now.

When the SUV left Szymański's mansion an hour later, Sheppard kick started the borrowed motor bike and began to follow as inconspicuously as he knew how.


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note:** Thanks again to everyone who's reviewing! I love you all!

* * *

**Chapter 5**

Heavy metal music met DiNozzo's ears as he stepped out of the elevator and headed for Abby's lab. The music was blasting even louder than usual, and he frowned at finding the door closed. Beside him, Dawson gave him a wary look.

"Your forensic specialist works in there?"

DiNozzo nodded, grinning. People never expected Abby, with her dark looks, tattoos and whatever the hell it was she listened to.

"Yeah. You're about to meet NCIS' secret weapon," he told the captain as he put his hand on the door knob and turned it, moving forward.

Except the door didn't move with him, and he ran into it, frowning again, shaking the handle.

"Well, that's weird," DiNozzo muttered, not sure what was going. Rolling his eyes, Dawson lifted his hand to knock hard and loud.

Not sure Abby would hear over the music, he kept on rattling the door, contemplating kicking it down, or picking the lock, if he could remember how…

He patted his pockets, wondering if he had a kit on him anyway, while Dawson knocked again.

"Miss Sciuto?"

Giving Dawson a strange look – he didn't hear many people calling her that – while still trying to find the kit, DiNozzo shook his head.

"She's not going to hear you."

"I'm not, am I?"

DiNozzo jumped as Abby's voice spoke up from behind him, turning as he did to find an angry face glaring up at him. Dawson turned at the same time, looking the forensic specialist up and down before his eyes widened.

Abby gave them both glares before shoving them aside, Caf-Pow in one hand and unlocking her door with a flick of her wrist.

DiNozzo caught the door before she could slam it in their faces.

"Abby, what's up with you?" he demanded as they walked inside the lab. Dawson somehow managed to ignore the music blaring a hole in his head and looked around with a certain degree of ignorance.

Abby continued to ignore DiNozzo as he walked after her. She didn't move to turn the music down, just stormed over to her computer and continued doing her work.

DiNozzo shared a look with Dawson before sighing, though it couldn't be heard above the noise. Starting to guess what Abby was upset about, he walked over to the stereo and pressed the stop button.

The sudden absence of music left the two men's ears ringing, and DiNozzo shook his head, wincing. Dawson pretended to be unaffected, just jabbing a thumb at a picture on the wall.

"Where'd you get that picture?"

DiNozzo looked over and stopped the snort of laughter just in time as he spotted General O'Neill's head – with a touch less grey – on a piece of paper, stuck to the wall with three darts.

Abby glared at the captain and put her hands on her hips. "Do I or do I not look like a forensics expert?"

Dawson twitched an eyebrow at her. "So you hacked into the SGC and found a photo of the general from his service days?"

"You bet I did," Abby snapped. "Got a problem with that, Mr Marine?"

Dawson put his hands up, grinning at the picture again as he let DiNozzo move in to talk to the obviously bitter woman.

"Hey, Abs, what's with the…"

He trailed off as her glare deepened and her arms crossed. "You wanna know what the problem is, _Tones_? All four of you went off to God knows where, sent by a general from the _Air Force_, who we don't even deal with, by the way, to track down a team that _I'm_ not even supposed to know about. And none of you bothered to tell me."

Tony swallowed and then tried to back away. "Hey, we left in a rush, Abby. Come on, what were we supposed to do at -." He stopped, realising that wasn't the right tact. "Look, I'm sorry. The SGC beamed us in, beamed us out, and beamed us all over the place. I'm sorry we didn't tell you."

"That's okay," Abby told him, making it obvious it wasn't when she poked him hard in the chest, pushing him back a pace. "Because I can take care of myself. Look, I even managed to get myself a Caf-Pow."

DiNozzo glanced at the tall cup. "I can see that. Uh… do you want to know what happened?"

Abby tilted her head at him. "I already know. Colonel I'm Always in Trouble and Need Someone to Rescue Me Sheppard got in trouble on assignment in Poland. Called Gibbs for some help. So typical."

Dawson stalked forward then, his face set in a scowl. "You wanna know why the colonel is always in trouble, _Miss Forensic Specialist_? Because he puts his ass on the line for his people, and for this planet. Now, you two wanna wrap up this little D'n'M you've got going here, cause we've gotta move your forensic crap so we can go rescue the people who were captured and tortured trying to save the world."

The two NCIS members glanced at him, before looking back at each other. "Wow, that was a little PMS-ey," DiNozzo agreed before Abby could even say anything.

She nodded, and the captain growled. But the forensic's expert seemed to forget all about her anger. "What's he talking about? Move my… did you just call it crap?"

Dawson ignored her. "You've been temporarily reassigned to Atlantis, Miss Sciuto. Welcome aboard."

There was a moment of intense silence as Abby stared hard at the captain. Then she turned to face him completely. "You know, if this is a joke, I will kill you in your sleep and make it so no one can ever recognise you again."

"I'm sure you can," Dawson acknowledged with little terror. "But I'll take my chances. Just take what you think you need. Atlantis should have most of your equipment…" he trailed off again, looking around before sneering, knowing his next words would bite. "Only better."

Abby turned on DiNozzo, her face showing the strange internal battle between indignation at the insult to her lab, and excitement that she was about to see the city McGee had told her so many stories about.

"Is he serious?" she demanded, excitement finally winning out. To be honest, Tony hadn't been sure it would. "Am I really going to Atlantis?"

"Depends on how fast you can pack your gear," General O'Neill suddenly said from the doorway. All three of them turned to stare at him as he entered the room and looked about with fake interest. Of course, until his gaze fell upon his own reflection and the darts in his forehead.

"Nice aim," was all he said though, in enough of a light tone to make Abby go quiet, looking between her Caf-Pow and her computer. O'Neill clapped his hands together. "So, ready to be transported?"

"Not quite," Abby told him. "Just give me… five seconds."

She walked over to her stereo and grabbed the CD from within it. She practically danced back over, regaining her excitement as she remembered exactly what was going on, and where she was going. DiNozzo grinned, and even Dawson regained some of his levity as she smiled brightly at the general.

"Ready! Atlantis really better have heaps better equipment."

O'Neill raised an eyebrow, but nodded anyway, lifting a radio to his mouth. "Daedalus, we're ready for transport."

There was a moment of silence, and then the white light filled the room, hiding Abby's suddenly stricken face. It was only once the greys of the space ship had materialised around them that DiNozzo turned to Abby and noticed. Not that he managed to get out the words to asked what was wrong.

"Oh, no!" she cried, grabbing tight onto Tony's arm. "I left my Caf-Pow behind."

O'Neill exchanged a look with Caldwell, which the agent decided to ignore. Moving around to face Abby, he grinned and began to spin her around.

"This'll probably make up for it, Abs."

And, true to DiNozzo's prediction, the scientist's jaw dropped as she spotted Earth spinning slowly outside the front window of the Daedalus.

"Holy crap," she whispered, making DiNozzo's grin spread. Until he thought of how Sheppard and his team must have been doing exactly the same thing when NCIS had first come aboard a space ship, though it had been the Apollo then. "Yep, that'll do it. Can I get a picture with this view?"

"Only if you're not planning on hanging it anywhere anybody could see it," Caldwell told her. "A picture of you looking out the window of a space ship is not the publicity we need."

Obviously thinking that would deter her, Caldwell was in for a surprise when she spun on the spot, pushing DiNozzo out the way as she raised her right hand and put her left on her heart, with a very solemn look on her innocent face.

"Oh, scout's honour." At Caldwell's stony face, her innocence eyes took it up a notch, and she tried it on O'Neill. "Pinky swear?"

"We'll see what we can do," O'Neill allowed in a dry voice, stepping down to stand beside her and DiNozzo. "Now, ready to see Atlantis?"

Abby looked up Tony, quite obviously on the verge of squealing. "Yes!"

Standing beside them, the general looked around Abby at DiNozzo. "I've never seen anyone so excited to get to work." He paused. "No, wait, I have."

Before either NCIS member could demand an explanation, the bright light of the Asgard beaming technology enveloped them. DiNozzo winced against the whiteness, but next to him he felt Abby jumping on the balls of her toes, and he couldn't help but grin.

And then the brightness disappeared; there was a split second as he felt nothing, a sensation he could only describe as odd, before the world crashed down around him and he was looking at Atlantis' soaring architecture.

Tony looked down at Abby, desperate to see her reaction. And he wasn't disappointed. Never one to hide her emotions, Abby's jaw was down, her eyes wide as she spun slowly in a circle on Atlantis' gate platform. Taking in the Stargate, the balcony above where a few technicians were watching the arrivals, to the stairs that Woolsey and Zelenka were already walking down towards them.

Keeping quiet, Dawson walked off towards the nearest sergeant, already pulling out the list of supplies Lorne had requested. DiNozzo only watched him leave, knowing they both had an hour before they were heading back to Poland. But he had orders to help Abby settle in, which he figured would be pretty boring as Radek instructed her on how to use their equipment.

"Welcome," Woolsey greeted as he came to stand before them, holding his hand out to the forensic specialist. "I'm Richard Woolsey. I take it you're Miss Sciuto?"

His voice didn't betray any of the shock he had at her appearance, but DiNozzo was sure he wasn't the only who had seen the quick widening of the man's eyes. Tony hid the grin, and then had to do it again as Abby grabbed Woolsey's hand and shook it hard.

"Call me Abby, Rick."

Beside Abby, O'Neill was trying – not very hard – not to laugh. But Woolsey seemed to take it in his stride, clearing his throat only once before gesturing at Zelenka.

"This is Dr Radek Zelenka, one of our top scientists. He'll get you acquainted with Atlantis' systems. Anything you need, just ask him."

Abby nodded. "You're the guy that works for McKay, right."

Zelenka's good natured grin slipped. "Technically, no. I am my own department head."

"Oh." Abby frowned. "I could'a sworn McKay said something about 'Zelenka, the Czech guy who's almost as smart as me'." She had put on a deep voice to mimic McKay's voice, then shrugged. "According to him, that's saying something. Personally, I think he has a tiny ego problem, but he did seem pretty… did I say something wrong?"

She went quiet, almost horrified, as she took in the still, sad look on Zelenka's face. The Czech shook his head, and then cleared his throat, his voice soft. "We should get started, ma'am," he told her, gesturing for her to walking. "The SGC wants us to get to work straight away."

They both walked off, but DiNozzo paused before following, glancing questioningly at O'Neill and Woolsey.

The commander of Atlantis was the one to answer. "Everyone's been hit pretty hard by the team's disappearance," Woolsey explained with a sigh.

DiNozzo nodded, understanding, before racing off after Abby.

* * *

"Look at this."

McGee looked over to where Ziva was standing by a gate, before sharing a look with Trohman, again their babysitter – though McGee suspected the marine was mostly there for him – on the streets of Gdańsk.

"What is it?" McGee asked, walking over to join his comrade. Ziva didn't need to answer though. McGee saw what she wanted to point out the second he got a good look at the gate. His eyebrows rose. "Someone beat us here?"

Trohman's eyes widened as well. "The colonel?" he demanded, looking up to the roof of the tall building.

Ziva shrugged, opening the gate softly, trying not to make a sound and startle whoever was up the stairs. If anyone was up there. "I don't know," she answered. "But he must know as well as us that this is the perfect spot for a stakeout. He can be sneaky when he wishes it."

Looking around, doubting – hoping – no one would be around this back alley street to watch them going up the stairs, Ziva paused only to grab her sidearm from its holster under her jacket, clicking the safety off before stepping silently across the line.

McGee followed her, pulling out his own gun and trying not to hold his breath. He was used to things like this, for sure. Being an NCIS agent, walking into any suspect's house was dangerous, could be a trap, could mean a gun shot, the death of a colleague, or your own death.

But here, out of his jurisdiction, where his death, or Ziva's death, would not be in the line of duty, or recognisable duty at least… it was different, and his heart beat faster for it.

Still, he followed the Mossad officer up the stairs, trying not to make a sound, while behind him Trohman shut the gate quietly and moved after the two NCIS agents.

The stairs seemed to take forever, but finally, McGee only breathing slightly hard, they made it to the top where a second gate sat slightly ajar. Tim hoped they hadn't alerted anyone on the roof, didn't think they had. Even he had managed to stay silent.

Ziva paused before stepping out into the open, glancing at McGee and Trohman before pushing open the gate with the end of her gun. The hinges squeaked, but still no noise came from the roof. McGee followed Ziva out, ignoring the urge to announce himself as he moved in the opposite direction to his colleague, gun up, heart thundering in his chest.

The roof top wasn't that big, maybe twenty square feet, but it still seemed to take a long time before McGee had circled around back to where he had started, meeting Ziva and the lieutenant at the gate to the stairwell.

"There's no one here," he told them, sighing and dropping his aim. Ziva nodded in agreement.

"But that does not mean no one was ever here," she reminded him, gesturing at the small lean-to sitting on the corner of the roof. Checking the surrounds, she walked over confidently, pulling a small scope out of her pocket.

"See, this area is dry," she told him. "No one sits out in the rain when they worry they might have to wait a long time."

She ducked under the small shelter, glancing up at the iron roof, pursing her lips. With a well-trained eye, she looked around before kneeling.

"Someone was sitting here," she told them, pointing to a few wet patches drying on the ground. "Kneeling, about where I am."

She leaned forward, leaning on the roof's ledge, and looked through her scope. She grinned. "Perfect vision of Szymański's house," she let them know, before looking away from the mansion in the distance. "I would bet money on Sheppard having been here."

Trohman let out a small sigh, and then looked around, as if Sheppard would be around in eye sight. "So where'd he go?"

McGee glanced at Szymański's house again, thinking. "He must have seen something that presented a better lead," he offered, thinking about it. He didn't say what else he was thinking, but judging by the way Ziva kept her mouth shut firmly, she was thinking the same thing. What if Szymański had noticed someone watching his house?

Trohman didn't appear to notice. "So what do we do?"

Ziva shrugged, looking up at him. "Watch Szymański and wait for the same thing that Sheppard saw," she told him. "Or for Sheppard himself. Perhaps he is still following Szymański. I do not see the man in his house."

"It's a pretty big house," Trohman reminded them wryly. "He could be out the back."

"Yes, he could," Ziva acknowledged. "We will find out soon enough. But for now, we can only let Gibbs know what we're doing, and watch. We do not have any other leads."


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note:** Thanks again everyone, for the awesome reviews! Have fun with this chapter!

* * *

**Chapter 6**

Gibbs paced in his room, thinking as hard as he could. Thinking, thinking, thinking. There had to be something they were missing. There had to be some clue they had forgotten that would lead them to something. There had to be something to show them where Sheppard had run off too.

Major Lorne just watched him, though it was obvious he was anxious as well; his leg tapped endlessly, up and down, up and down, going faster and faster. They were alone in the room while Walker went to get supplies, and Dawson took DiNozzo to replace McGee.

They had been watching Szymański's house for three hours now, and night had fallen. Not that they would stop just because it got a little darker and a lot colder. No, Gibbs had made sure his team was committed to this, and a chance of hypothermia wasn't going to stop any of them.

He shook his head, and then growled. But he didn't say anything, just paced, ignoring Lorne watching him, ignoring the looks the major was giving him.

There was a knock at the door, three sharp raps that stopped Gibbs' pacing and Lorne's tapping in their tracks. A second later the door opened, Lorne's hand went to his holster and McGee walked in, shaking off a soaked coat. Sergeant Trohman quickly followed, slipping off a wet hat and chucking it onto the pile of wet clothes already sitting in the corner.

Only once the door was shut did Lorne relax, while Gibbs just turned to his agent. "What have you got, McGee?"

Tim brandished a recently-requisitioned camera as he walked over to his laptop. "Photos," he told them all with some glee. "Of Szymański and people who he had dealings with this evening. Some of his guards, his staff."

"Good," Gibbs acknowledged, moving to join McGee. "Let's take a look, see if we can't find someone of interest."

The card loaded quickly, and the shots of thirteen people rolled onto the screen. There was a noise as Lorne got off the bed and walked over to take a look as well.

"These seven are the members of Szymański's staff we caught sight of, mainly guards patrolling the fence." McGee shook his head. "For such a big house, he doesn't have a lot of people for maintenance."

"We're not going to find anything trailing them," Lorne said before Gibbs could get it out. "They might know something, but I doubt it would be anything solid."

McGee went to glance at Gibbs but seemed to think better of it. He skipped to the seventh photo. "These next three came to visit together." He clicked and the other two appeared, one wearing a cast, while the first's face was tight with obvious pain. Gibbs frowned.

"Find out who they are," he ordered the probie, who nodded as he skipped to the tenth photo.

This was a man by himself, his blue eyes cold as he stared around. McGee made a noise in the back of his throat. "Trohman said he knew this guy."

"Not knew," the sergeant suddenly interrupted from where he was trying to dry himself. "I recognise his face. He's a part of an underground gang here. Name's Piotrowski. He's not the leader, but he's pretty high up the ranks according to local police."

"And how do you know that?" Gibbs demanded, turning to look at the marine.

It was Lorne who answered though. "Because before we came to find Sheppard a week ago, we had a quick look through potential suspects. Piotrowski's gang was one of them. They have a pretty mean and influential reputation." The major shook his head. "A few local politicians, and businessmen have suspected ties to groups like these. After today, I'm guessing Szymański's one of them, though he's been smart enough so far to stay under the radar."

Gibbs nodded slowly. "What was his name again?"

"Borys Piotrowski," Trohman told them, chucking the towel on the pile of wet clothes. "And I think he'd be a good man to keep an eye on."

Gibbs agreed. "Can we use the Daedalus to find him?"

Lorne shared a look with the sergeant before shrugging. "Can only ask, I guess. If not… we'll just have to wait for him to go back to Szymański's and follow him from there."

Gibbs nodded. "I'll ask Colonel Caldwell. I need to see Abby anyway." He paused and turned to McGee. "Who are the last two?"

"Not sure," McGee answered, clicking so the last two photos came on. "Stayed for about an hour, had a pretty big chat with Szymański in his office." He shrugged, staring at the two men. "Do you want me to find who they are as well?"

"Obviously," Gibbs snapped, standing up and grabbing his jacket. "But go replace Ziva at 0100," he ordered. "We can't have any of you getting sick on the colonel and his team. Lorne, you coming?"

The major nodded. "I need to speak to General O'Neill anyway. I'll organise transport." Lorne grabbed his radio and moved to the corner to speak into it. Gibbs turned back to McGee.

"Remember, 0100. And tell Ziva if I'm not back to replace DiNozzo at 0600. But keep working on finding out who those men are, and what their connection is to Szymański." Gibbs looked up as Lorne moved back. "We ready."

Lorne lifted the radio to his mouth again. "Daedalus, beam us up."

* * *

Sheppard shivered as night really fell, pulling his jacket closer around him as he peeked out of the cover of the alley.

He was watching the bald guy's apartment now. He didn't know the man's name, and hadn't gotten close enough to hear it, didn't particularly want to know anything about the guy. But he had stayed on the guy's tail like a donkey on a carrot.

_Apt description_, Sheppard thought to himself. The guy probably thought he was an ass.

Oh, he knew. Sheppard knew that the bald guy knew he was watching him, trailing him. The bald guy, whatever his name was, he was good, good enough to spot Sheppard trailing him. He just wasn't good enough. Every so often, he would give himself away. A jerk towards the spot where Sheppard was hiding. A small grin as if he knew something no one else did. Small things, tiny things, but Sheppard was alert to them all.

Just like he was alert to the guys watching _him_.

It wasn't always the same people, but he recognised them all. One and all, they were the bald guy's men. Trailing Sheppard as he trailed the bald guy. Watching him as he watched. Even now they were sitting across the street in a black sedan – not cliché at all – the windows dark. But every so often, Sheppard would catch a glimpse of movement, a small spark as one of them lit a cigarette.

And tomorrow, he knew, they would pounce.

They would try to take him, try to pick him up and drag him kicking and screaming back to wherever his team was being held now. And he would let them think they could. Would never turn, never stop, never look back once until they ambushed him. And then he would turn the tables. He could only hope the bald Pole would be there as well, just so he could see how the bastard liked a fist in the face.

His fists clenched, and he pulled his jacket in tighter. They wouldn't even know what hit them.

* * *

All this time zone hopping was going to drive him crazy.

Gibbs took a second to wrap his head around the late afternoon, early evening sun before moving off the balcony looking over the Stargate towards Woolsey, who was waiting inside his office, alone.

"No General O'Neill this time?" he asked as he stopped before the man. Woolsey shook his head wearily.

"Apparently he had something to take care of in Washington," the commander explained with a sigh. "What can I do for you, Agent Gibbs?"

"I need to see how Abby's doing with the forensics," he told the balding man. Who promptly chuckled.

Gibbs was silent for a moment, concerned all of sudden that the pressure of command and his missing team had gone to Woolsey's head. "Am I missing something?"

"Not at all, Agent Gibbs," Woolsey told him, standing. "Sorry. I'll take you to her now."

Gibbs followed the man out of the office and down the stairs towards the Stargate platform. Still frowning, the agent jogged a pace to step even with Woolsey, wondering what the smile on his face was.

"What is it?" he demanded when it became obvious Woolsey wasn't sharing.

The man glanced at him. "It's Abby," he said simply. "I'm not sure how much work she'll have managed to complete since you left her here."

"She arrived here four hours ago," Gibbs reminded him dryly. "She's a fast worker." But he had the feeling that wasn't what had Woolsey amused, and he was right.

"Yes, but she had been slightly… distracted."

"What do you mean, distracted?" Gibbs demanded. Woolsey shrugged.

"You'll see. We're almost there."

A moment later he heard the music, not as loud as Abby usually liked her tunes, but loud enough. Only, a second later, it turned off again. A second later, it came back on. And then off. On and off. On and off. Concerned and very confused, Gibbs picked up the pace and all but jogged into the lab Atlantis had set aside for the NCIS forensics expert.

Inside Abby was fine. Actually, she appeared more than fine, bending over to view a piece of technology – it looked Ancient even to Gibbs' untrained eye. Her hand rested on top of it, while her face was lit with a massive grin.

"Abby!"

The woman snapped upright, her hands moving fast to clasp behind her back, a guilty, childish expression on her face as she took in Gibbs, and behind him, Woolsey.

"Hey… Gibbs," she greeted over the music. It had stayed on for some reason. "Rick. Um… I was just… taking a small break."

Gibbs frowned, stepping forward, not understanding. "What were you doing?"

Abby's smile widened, and she moved back to the Ancient device. "Check this out." And she put her hand on top of the device. Almost instantly, the music cut off.

Gibbs understood immediately, trying not to groan. "You have the ATA gene." DiNozzo would be put out by that.

Abby, on the other hand… Her grin widened even further, if that was possible, and she nodded enthusiastically. "Yep! Isn't it great! I mean, all this technology, it's so… far beyond even me… I know what McKay was talking about now." At Woolsey's sudden throat clearing, she shook her head, eyes going large. "Oh no, this was once I found out about the Stargate, don't worry. I was interested, he sent me an email -."

This time she paused for Gibbs' throat clearing, getting that guilty look back. "That's not why you're here," she translated. "Right. Um, over here."

With one last wistful glance at the silent Ancient stereo – though Gibbs wasn't quite sure that was what the Ancients had used it for – Abby led the way over to the centre of the lab. About the same size as Abby's own lab at NCIS, it was filled with a lot more technology, all in the sterile colours of the Ancients, lacking that homey feeling Abby had given her lab over the years. But if they were going to find Sheppard, McKay, Ronon and Teyla, sacrifices had to be made.

"Right," Abby began, getting down to business. "So, the blood from the phone is Sheppard's. So are the finger prints on the gun Tony found. The other blood is from Ronon." At Gibbs questioning glance, she added, "Dr Keller gave me access to the medical files of the team. So, uh, the majority of the cartridges Tony found are from the Glock Sheppard used. The others are either from another Glock, or one of two Berettas."

"Four guns," Gibbs surmised, glancing at Woolsey where he was listening in. "Four team members."

"That's what I'm guessing. There's not much more I can tell you," she added with a sigh. "There's nothing on the gun to say who owned it before Sheppard borrowed it. The tyre tracks are from generic brand tyres, though the impression would suggest the weight of a van…" She shrugged helplessly. "Until I get some more evidence, there's not much more I can do."

"Was there anything in the blood work?" Gibbs asked, desperate. "Anything at all that was out of the ordinary?"

Abby shook her head slowly. "Sheppard's fighting off an infection. He had very elevated white blood cells, but from what I've heard about what happened to him, that's only to be expected. Ronon's blood showed elevated levels as well, but not nearly as high as Sheppard's."

"So Colonel Sheppard is running around in Gdańsk, probably looking for his team while running an infection?" Woolsey demanded, sounding disbelieving. Gibbs was inclined to disagree, but surprisingly it was Abby who answered the question, shrugging.

"From what I've been told about him, I could believe it," she said. "He sounds very stubborn, determined. He'd do anything for his team. I know plenty of people like that."

Gibbs gave her a look, which she ignored, as usual. Woolsey just sighed, before leaving the lab. No doubt to go talk to his superiors, and inform them of any developments. Gibbs just turned to Abby again.

"Anything else, Abs?"

The forensics expert shook her head. "Nothing. But if you could find me some more evidence, I would love to play with these toys again."

Grinning, Gibbs just turned and left. He needed to get back to Gdańsk anyway. He had a team to find.

* * *

McKay shivered as a cold draught blasted it's way through the prison the three of them were kept in, but he tried to keep his chattering teeth to himself. Ronon heard anyway, from the next cell over, but he didn't say anything either. The big man's hands kept flinching, as if he were moving to rub his arms in a lame attempt to regain some warmth.

But they both kept their problems to themselves. Refused to show the cold, or the pain, the aches, barely even moving in fear it would give them and their problems away to Teyla where she sat heavily against the bars of a third cell.

Not that he was sure she would notice anything anymore.

Instead of cold, she was obviously hot, her eyes dull as she flickered somewhere between awake and unconscious. She hadn't fared so well in their escape attempt, and the guards who had brought them back to… wherever they were now, they had not been gentle. But where Rodney and Ronon had to contend with bruises, potential fractures, and in Ronon's case, a bullet in his arm, Teyla had been shot in the back.

Nowhere deadly, for which both Atlantis members were grateful. It hadn't nicked a lung, or her spine. But the wound had gone untreated, and it was dirty down here. Wherever here was. The bullet wound had become infected, and Teyla was slipping closer and closer towards death. A slow, painful descent towards death.

McKay shifted, trying not to think about it. About anything, except the fact that Sheppard needed more than a day – he thought it was a day – to find them, and rescue them. But he would. If he had survived.

"He survived."

Rodney jumped, not realizing he had spoken his last thoughts out loud. He glanced at Ronon, guilty at realising he had started giving up faith. He nodded sharply, shifting again to study Teyla again.

She just groaned under his gaze and slipped further down the bars, her eyes dropping closed a little more.

Both Rodney and Ronon moved, getting to the front of their cells within seconds, needing to be as close to Teyla as was possible with the corridor in between them.

"Teyla?" Rodney questioned.

Ronon was having none of that. "Teyla, open your eyes."

The Athosian woman didn't respond to the command, and the two men shared a worried, anxious look.

"Teyla!"

She jerked upwards at Rodney's voice, giving a sharp cry at the pain it awakened. Rodney couldn't bring himself to feel guilty about it. Whatever he needed to do to keep her alive until Sheppard found them, he would do it. Glancing at Ronon again, he knew the Satedan was prepared to do the same.

"Hey, Teyla," Ronon called, more gently this time. She glanced over at him, her eyes unable to focus enough to stay steady on her friend's face. Ronon didn't seem to notice. "Where do you think we should make Sheppard take us next?"

She smiled, her eyes slipping downwards as she thought about the question. At least she was thinking. At least she was awake. Rodney licked his lips. "Personally, I'm thinking Hawaii. You could both learn how to surf."

Teyla shook her head, still smiling softly. "Somewhere cold," she mumbled. "Where the snow dances, and you can make shapes, build forts out of it…" She frowned. "It's been so long since I saw snow…"

She was slipping again, they both noticed. "Teyla!" Rodney panicked, trying to shove his arm across the corridor, trying to reach her, not willing to lose another friend. "Wake up!"

She sat up straighter with obvious effort, her eyes bright suddenly, her face sad. "Torren," she whispered, looking around. "I can't find him. Where is he? Torren!"

McKay looked at Ronon again, wishing he didn't know his anxiety was clear in his face. Ronon managed to stay calm.

"Teyla! Teyla! He's not here, remember."

She stopped, looking at Ronon, still terrified. "Where is he? Where did I leave him?"

"He's with Kanaan," Ronon answered her firmly. "He is safe. I promise you."

McKay wished he knew what to do. He wished he wasn't here. He wished he was safe, and Teyla was safe, and he wished he knew Sheppard had survived being shot and falling into the icy cold bay. He wished he could wish his wishes true. But all he could do was watch his team mate, his friend, his family slipping more and more, and not just against the bars.

He rubbed his face with his hands, scrubbing away the helplessness before it showed. Then he looked to the sky and closed his eyes.

_Please, John… Hurry._


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

Sheppard had a bad feeling about this.

He had allowed himself to lose the bald guy, the one who's name he still hadn't managed to find out. But he had kept an eye on the two following him, had made sure he didn't lose them. He didn't think he would even if he wanted to, not knowing they were going to try and recapture him.

But it was a gamble, he knew that all too well, even without his heart hammering away. He had dropped his only lead, knowing full well the man would never take him to his team while he knew he was being followed. Sheppard was hoping the two men following him could either lead him to someone who wasn't so sharp, or, failing that, back to the bald guy. That was worst case scenario. Or the worst case scenario he wanted to think of.

Best case scenario, he let them ambush him, he kicked all their butts, questioned one of them and made the bad guy lead him to his team.

Of course, that pivoted on the bad guys actually knowing where his team was being kept. And that was not a given.

And if they didn't, he was screwed. Or more precisely, his team was.

He shifted in the alley, getting used to these dark depths as the hours went by. It was a few hours after dawn now, and he was watching the two men watching him from across the street. They didn't know he knew they were there, of course, or he hoped they didn't. He was busy concentrating on the camera he had borrowed from some random tourist's backpack, trying to look like a guy who had lost his only lead. A guy who was getting desperate.

And then, out of the corner of his eye, Sheppard noticed a third man join the other two, and all of them glanced in his direction. He paused deliberately, and looked up, staring straight at them. He couldn't sit around and wait anymore. He had to force their hand. If he could get them to try to grab him unprepared, he had more of a chance. He was sure he could take out three of them.

Then again…

His head snapped back to the road as a black sedan rolled slowly by. Out of instinct, Sheppard leaned back into the wall, using the shadow to hide his frame. He didn't think the driver had seen him, but those windows were dark. Dark enough to hide others. And it had been driving too slowly to be anyone but one of the bad guys, looking for him.

Swearing to himself, Sheppard pocketed the camera, realising there were more of them than he thought. Realising he had been outplayed.

"Shit," he muttered, walking out of the alley. He needed to get away, to regroup. He needed to drop this tail, start from the start. He cursed again as he glanced quickly up and down the street before crossing. He had just wasted nearly a whole day trailing the bald guy when he should have been searching for his team, or finding a way to contact Atlantis, the SGC, someone, anyone. "Shit, shit, shit!"

He raced across the street, angry at himself, noticing the three guys moving off after him. He needed to move faster. He needed to get away.

Darting into another alley, he broke into a run.

* * *

Gibbs watched the street with a steady eye, glad the rain had finally given up and the day was clear. It meant he had a good view of his target as it came into sight.

He was sitting in a car with DiNozzo and Sergeant Walker. The marine was sitting in the driver's seat, a position that Gibbs found a little disconcerting. He liked that seat. His was better than DiNozzo's spot in the back seat though.

Across the street, Ziva was ordering a coffee, her quick glances towards the target invisible to the naked eye. For all intents and purposes, she was just another tourist ordering her coffee in strangely fluent Polish.

Which left Major Lorne and Captain Dawson trailing their target at a safe distance. Their target being Borys Piotrowski. They had got lucky. While the Daedalus had been unable to pick up on his location without a radio signal or some such thing Gibbs didn't really understand, Piotrowski had visited Szymański again that morning, and from there, Ziva had left McGee, taking Dawson and tailing Piotrowski. It was now seven in the morning, local time, and they had been following the man for an hour and a half. He hadn't taken them to either Sheppard or McKay, Ronon and Teyla, but it was early yet. And so far, besides Szymański, Piotrowksi was their only lead.

"He's turning, crossing the road," Lorne's voice suddenly came over the radio hidden in Gibbs' ear. The major had proven surprisingly good at tailing people, and Dawson wasn't half bad either. Piotrowski didn't seem to realise he was being followed at all.

So far.

Gibbs tapped his radio, opening it to all his team. "Let him, Major. DiNozzo and I will take him from here. And yes, we'll be fine," he added before the major could argue.

"Affirmative," Lorne muttered in reply, obviously not happy with it.

DiNozzo was already out the door, stretching and acting as casual as he knew how. Which, Gibbs had to admit, was pretty casual.

He soon followed, taking his empty cup of coffee with him. It was a good distraction. No one questioned a man with a coffee.

Piotrowski was on the opposite side of the street, but as they began walking, Gibbs and DiNozzo kept in time with him, walking slowly, just two men reluctant to get anywhere fast.

Gibbs kept an eye on Piotrowski though, and just like them, the man didn't seem to be in any hurry. "Ziva, you got that coffee yet?"

"Yes, I have it," she answered.

"Start following him then," the boss ordered, feeling his gut starting to churn a little. "I think something's going on. Major, Captain, you might want to come as well."

"Why, what's going on?" Lorne demanded, but Gibbs knew he had listened. "Have you spotted someone?"

"No." Not yet, his gut told him. "Just a – hang on. He's stopped."

Gibbs slowly came to a halt beside a rubbish bin, turning so he could just see Piotrowski out of the corner of his eye. The man had stopped, and as Gibbs pretended to drink the last of his coffee, two men came out of the shadows.

Dumping the empty cup, Gibbs glanced up and down the street. There was Ziva, walking slowly, sipping on a steaming cup. A few metres behind her, Lorne and Dawson walked purposefully, hands in jacket pockets, pretending to be in conversation, but whatever they were saying to each other, Gibbs couldn't hear it over the radio.

"What is it?" DiNozzo asked softly as Gibbs continued to look around. He knew he had the potential to compromise them, that Piotrowski would see them and the game would be gone.

But Gibbs was sure something else was going on here.

He looked up the street in the opposite direction, but he couldn't spot anything there either. Not that he could see anything hidden in doorways or alley entrances.

"Sergeant, I need you to move up the road about three hundred feet." Piotrowski and the two who had joined him were glancing at something else. Someone else? "Look for anyone hidden in doorways, alleys, that kind of thing."

"On my way," the marine answered quickly, and thirty seconds later, Gibbs watched the black sedan roll passed.

"Ah, boss, we should move on as well," DiNozzo suggested, and Gibbs nodded sharply, turning on his heels and following Walker up the road. He still managed to keep eye on Piotrowski, if he turned his head a little.

In the end, he didn't need to. Even as Walker parked the sedan again, a shape darted out of an alleyway, dashing across the road. It moved so quick Gibbs hadn't even spotted it before DiNozzo stiffened.

Behind them Piotrowski and his men had no such problems, spotting the figure almost instantly and moving off, heading up the street, their eyes intent on the figure that had disappeared down another alley.

"They're going to grab him in broad daylight?" DiNozzo demanded, picking up the pace before Gibbs could even order him to.

"Who?" Lorne suddenly demanded, back on the radio. There was a moment of silence. "Was it Colonel Sheppard?"

"I don't know," Gibbs told him truthfully. He hadn't seen enough of the figure to say. "But whoever it is, Piotrowski and his men are going to try to get him. That's good enough for me. Everyone follow."

* * *

Sheppard didn't know where any of the other guys were, but the three who had followed him from the street stuck on his trail far too easily.

He had a fair idea why, but refused to think about it, just running as fast as he could, taking corners at the last minute trying to put a few extra metres behind him and his hunters.

If anything they began shaving the metres off, and John swore, knowing he wasn't going to get away this time.

He turned another corner and then saw the opportunity, an old door, enclosed space, hopefully something he could use to defend himself against who knew how many baddies.

He barely even stopped to kick open the door, trampling through it like he didn't have fractured ribs and a half-healed bullet wound in his thigh. He barrelled through the door into the rundown warehouse…

And came to a screeching halt at finding three guns aimed at his head.

He growled in frustration, putting his hands up as the three who had followed him from the street crashed into the warehouse as well. Sheppard didn't bother turning, just allowed one of the men to walk up behind him and grab the gun from his hand.

Which meant he didn't see the fist coming, either. The one that drove up under his ribs, knocking the wind from him and sending him to his knees.

He grabbed his chest with one hand, heaving, even as the man who had punched him walked around to glare at him. Sheppard managed to grin toothily up at him. "Hey, Borys," he greeted the man. "Thought I recognised you. Long time, no see."

The second fist smashed into his cheek, and Sheppard only just managed to stay off the floor, head spinning as he tried to focus. But it took too long, and by the time he could think straight, not only were two of the men holding him by the arms and hauling him to his feet, but another two men had appeared out of nowhere, guns up. He was badly outnumbered, eight to one. Seriously not good odds.

"Check him," Piotrowski ordered roughly. The hands from one of the newcomers had the same temperament as they patted him down. Sheppard grunted.

"Easy there, tiger."

The man managed to ignore him, pulling out John's second gun and the knife, chucking them on the floor. Sheppard tried not to give them a longing look, instead wondering how he was going to get out of this one.

Piotrowski stared at him as the third man backed away, done with his search. "You give us a lot of trouble, Sheppard," the man told him with a growl. "I chased you all over Gdańsk. But no more running."

"Yeah, was getting kind of sick of it," Sheppard told him, still a little breathless. "So what now? Back to the cells."

Piotrowski sneered. "Not for you." He chuckled. "The Boss heard back from Wraith. They are very interested in you."

Sheppard tried not to let the panic set in, or show, but he was tired, sore, running a fever and probably still hypothermic, if that was even possible, he didn't know. Piotrowski saw it and stepped in closer, his sneer deepening.

"I thought that would make you fear," the man told him with deep satisfaction. "Yes, they will back here soon, their plan will be ready, and you will be given to them. A sign of loyalty, no?"

Sheppard refused to back down or lower his stare. "It's your funeral," he warned cheerfully. "The Wraith don't need loyalty. They need food. And one man isn't going to fill them all up."

Piotrowski laughed. "We can take care of them. They are few, and we are many," the Pole answered, stepping in closer again.

And that was the move Sheppard had been waiting for.

Without a second thought, he lashed out with his foot, hitting as hard as he could and pushing Piotrowski back into the three men who had still been holding their aim on him. Not for long, as the leader barrelled into them, sending them all sprawling.

Sheppard didn't stop to admire his handiwork, turning now to the two men holding his hands. Using the element of surprise – his only advantage – he spun towards one, using all his strength to twist them both about. One flew around, managing to hold onto his arm, but ending up beside his buddy where Sheppard again used his foot, this time aiming for the open groin.

It connected solidly, and the man doubled over, letting go of the colonel's arm to grab at his thumping privates.

Which left Sheppard with one man still holding onto him and two others cocking their guns to shoot him. But even exhausted and injured, John refused to be a pushover. With a deft move that would have impressed Teyla, he reversed the grip on his wrist until he was the one holding his opponent. Revelling in the man's look of shock, Sheppard pulled him in, just in time to use the man as a shield: the Pole took the two bullets intended for Sheppard's head.

Not done by far, and knowing he had limited adrenaline left to run on, Sheppard grabbed the gun from the now dead weight in his arms, allowing the corpse to drop, levelling his aim over the falling head and firing. Just two shots for the two men, before a third took out the man just getting to his feet, and suddenly he wasn't so outnumbered.

He spun to find Piotrowski and his three men on their feet, already ready to fire at him.

Cursing under his breath, Sheppard turned again and ran for the huge crate he had seen sitting in the corner. He reached it just in time, as the three men with machine guns opened fire, the bullets dogging his feet as he leapt over the crate and behind its safety.

But as the barrage continued, the crate beginning to lose its integrity, John had to admit, things still weren't looking good.

* * *

Ziva made it to the alley first, turning down and speeding up until she was sprinting, Lorne and Dawson hot on her heels. Gibbs and Tony weren't far behind them, the older man softly but strongly ordering Lieutenant Walker to stay in the car as back up.

And then the loud sounds of gun fire sounded out, and civilians back on the street screamed, ducking their heads even though the rounds were being fired somewhere deep within the block Piotrowski had just taken them into. Ziva grabbed her gun from the holster under her thick jacket and sped up.

The sounds were easy enough to follow: the dull sounds of possibly three 9mm. Ziva frowned as she spotted the warehouse where it was all happening, hoping they weren't too late. Hoping they would be out of here before the police came running.

Ziva halted at the door, flicking off the safety and cocking her sidearm. Lorne banged to a halt on the other side of the door, not about to rush in and risk a full frontal assault with no cover. Inside the machine guns took over from the pistols, but Ziva had to wonder if their target was even alive anymore.

Dawson ducked down by the window, glancing in through a jagged hole as Gibbs and DiNozzo caught up, copying Dawson and squatting, guns up, where they could look inside the abandoned, rundown warehouse.

Dawson caught their attention and signalled there were four men he could see, and that they were clear to enter. Ziva nodded sharply, while Lorne turned to stand in front of the door, bunching his muscles.

The entire exchange had taken mere seconds, and then only a moment later the captain, Gibbs and DiNozzo were standing up in front of the windows, opening fire with the dull, powerful shots of their sidearms. At the same time Lorne kicked open the door, running inside, already shooting, Ziva hot on his heels.

It was over within seconds, though after her years at NCIS, Ziva hated the cold feeling of shooting someone when she hadn't announced herself. She could tell Gibbs and DiNozzo were having similar problems.

But five onto four were not good numbers, and with the advantage of surprise, the four went down all too quickly. Within only a few more seconds silence reigned in the warehouse.

The five of them exchanged glances, sometimes looking at the four other men already on the ground, but more often at the nearly destroyed crate that had been the obvious aim of the men they had just killed.

Or so Ziva assumed, hearing someone groaning, while a second person in the room breathed heavily. But she ignored it, leaving Dawson and DiNozzo to check for pulses, while she, Gibbs and Lorne crept towards the crate where she really hoped Piotrowski's target wasn't dead.

She reached the crate first, checking with Gibbs, who nodded for her to continue. Keeping her gun trained on the corner, she sidestepped around, licking her lips, wondering if they had found Sheppard just that little too late. If they had found Sheppard at all.

Forcing her mind focused, she cleared the side of the crate and came face to face with the barrel of a gun.

She didn't even have time to take stock of it though, before the aim had dropped with exhaustion, and the man holding the gun gave a grunt. She suddenly realised he was the one breathing heavily, and she let her aim drop as she tried to get a good look at his face.

Glancing at Gibbs and Lorne again, she crept closer, suddenly afraid to approach him. The man was shaking, pale where she could see skin. Or at least, skin that wasn't discoloured.

And then he looked up at her, finding some reserve of strength somewhere, and they both recognised each other at the same time.

"Ziva?"

"Colonel!" Lorne cried, recognising the voice and running forward, around the crate to skid to his knees before his CO. His relief was palpable and contagious. The other four all let a sigh of relief out as Sheppard gave a hoarse laugh.

"Christ, Major," Sheppard muttered breathlessly. "Talk about timing."

"Would have got here sooner, sir, if you weren't so damn good at hiding."

"Not good enough, obviously," the colonel replied. "Wanna help me up, Major?"

Lorne nodded, hoisting Sheppard under his arms and pulling him upright. Sheppard winced, but didn't complain, just took stock of the warehouse as he pushed away from his second and greeted his rescuers.

"Dawson, nice to see you." Sheppard glanced at the two other agents. "Gibbs, DiNozzo. Guess you figured out the message."

They were both silent for a moment, before DiNozzo shook his head in disbelief. "You look like crap, Sheppard."

The man chuckled, before stopping, grabbing his ribs. "Doing stakeouts by yourself tends to do that." He paused, as if weighing his words. "Of course, there are a few other factors."

Gibbs raised one eyebrow. "Like falling into the ocean?"

Sheppard's eyes flashed, and he didn't answer for a moment. "Amongst other things," he answered quietly, tightly. He turned to Lorne and took a deep breath. "I'm guessing the Daedalus is still in orbit?"

Lorne nodded in confusion. "Of course." He shared a look with Dawson. "Why?"

Sheppard shook his head, suddenly turning several shades whiter, which Ziva hadn't even thought possible.

"Cause I'm not feeling so great, Lorne."

And then his eyes rolled into the back of his head and he collapsed. Ziva rushed forward as if to catch him, but Lorne moved faster, catching Sheppard and lowering him to the floor, even while he grabbed for his radio.

And then they all noticed the spreading blood over Sheppard's dark jacket. Lorne swore under his breath before fumbling his radio out the rest of the way.

"Daedalus, this is Lorne, we have Sheppard, but we need to get to Atlantis real quick."

"I'm coming too," Gibbs added into his own radio, stepping forward. Lorne just nodded as Caldwell's voice came back.

"We're beaming the three of you straight to the infirmary," Caldwell told them in a rush. There was a pause, and then, just before the light consumed the three men, the Daedalus commander added in a half-relieved voice, "Good job, people."

* * *

I swear to God, Sheppard IS actually Superman…


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's Note:** Sorry guys! I know, I haven't posted in forever... okay, three days, but it feels like forever! I feel really bad, but I was working on Thursday night, didn't get home til late, and then had some friend dramas to contend with. Then on Friday I went home, where I don't have the internet! It was horrible, absolutely horrible, and I feel bad, cause it was three whole days! So, just for it, I'm posting two chapters now!

Oh, and HAPPY BIRTHDAY for Friday to Lady Niko!

* * *

**Chapter 8**

Sitting in one of the chairs in Woolsey's office, Gibbs rubbed his chin as the Atlantis leader closed the door behind him and walked over to his chair, sitting down and pulling off his glasses.

"Is he okay?"

Gibbs shook his head. "I don't know. Dr Keller took him straight into surgery. Major Lorne's still down there, keeping an eye out."

"On what?" Woolsey snorted, before looking slightly mortified that he had done so. "Sorry." He shook his head. "One of the men you shot is still alive."

That brought Gibbs' eyebrows up. "Really? I'm guessing he's in the infirmary. When can I speak to him?"

"The moment he wakes up," Woolsey told him, a steely glint in his eyes. Then he paused. "We also beamed the crime scene to an empty room here."

At Gibbs' curious look, Woolsey shook his head again. "The gunfight attracted the attention of the local police. We had to beam the scene or lose it."

Nodding, Gibbs leaned back. "Does that mean Ziva and DiNozzo are here?"

Woolsey nodded. "You probably just missed them heading to the infirmary." He sighed. "Will you wait until Sheppard wakes up to head back to Gdańsk?"

Gibbs shook his head. "I'll send Ziva back straight away. I'll get DiNozzo to go through the crime scene." He paused. "I need someone else brought to Atlantis."

After a moment's pause, Woolsey actually chuckled. "Of course you do. Don't you understand the concept of international secret?"

"Hey, you're the one who won't let us take evidence off this base," Gibbs pointed out. "And the last time your people autopsied a body, they missed a Wraith virus that jeopardised the whole city."

"You know damn well that wasn't Dr Biro's fault," Woolsey snapped. "Even your doctor would have missed a virus that had decided to vacate once the damage was done!"

Gibbs conceded with a nod, knowing now wasn't the time to push things. "Dr Mallard. He's the best I know."

"Everyone you work with is the best you know," Woolsey reminded him with a touch of snark. "Fine. I'll have to run it by General O'Neill, but fine."

Gibbs nodded. "I'll get Ziva to get him," he said as he stood up. "Before she goes back to Gdańsk."

"And what about you?" Woolsey asked before the agent could even open the door. "Are you going back to Gdańsk?"

Gibbs shook his head, pausing with his hand on the handle. "No," he said determinedly. "I'm staying until Sheppard wakes up."

Woolsey frowned. "From what I heard of his… that could be a while."

The agent nodded, turning, accepting it. "I know."

And he disappeared through the glass door, intent on finding DiNozzo and Ziva.

* * *

"Hey, Lorne," DiNozzo greeted as they entered the infirmary. Ziva just nodded at him, staring through to where she knew Sheppard was.

"How is he?" she asked, needing to know that first.

The Major had been pacing when they came in, but now he stopped, flopping into a seat. "He's in surgery," he told them with a sigh. "Something about bullet wounds, and…"

He stood up again, giving an angry sigh, putting his hands behind his head, resuming his pacing. "They tortured him, Keller said," he told them through tight teeth. "Those bastards tortured him." He shook his head again.

Ziva shared a look with DiNozzo, before the taller agent spoke up. "The way you guys talk about the Pegasus Galaxy, you'd think that was a weekly occurrence."

Lorne shook his head. "No. It's not. Not like… I mean, sure, there was Todd, and he's been beat up before, but… never like this." He paused, taking a deep breath. "Keller looked ready to throw up when she was talking to me."

Ziva stepped forward, knowing they couldn't have Lorne working himself up. "Major, you need to sit down."

"No, I need to find the bastards who did this so they can pay."

Ziva glanced behind her at DiNozzo, who was starting to look a little worried as well. So often they had found themselves thinking they understood the loyalty Sheppard's men had towards him. The respect. And yet again, they had found their estimates wanting.

"Sheppard'll be fine," Tony told him, stepping up as well.

"Probably," Lorne admitted, sitting down again. He looked over them, as if suddenly realising who they were. "What happened with the crime scene? I saw them bring in that one guy, Piotrowski."

"Yeah, Walker warned us cops were coming, so we got Caldwell to beam it all back here." DiNozzo looked slightly impressed. "I didn't know the Daedalus could beam something like that."

Lorne snickered. "Beamed an entire building out into space once. Or one of the ships did, I don't know." He shook his head. "Found anything from the scene yet?"

"DiNozzo's just about to go look," Gibbs suddenly said from the doorway. He walked in, and like his agents before him, glanced at the inner doors to the infirmary. "Any news?"

"Nothing yet," Lorne told him, leaning back in his chair. "Keller said he should survive though. He got hit in that firefight before we got there, but apparently it didn't hit anything major. She was more worried about the older wounds."

"You wanted us to go check out the scene, boss?" DiNozzo clarified, turning to the greying agent.

Gibbs shook his head. "No, just you, DiNozzo. Ziva, I want you to head back to NCIS, get Ducky. He's going to autopsy the bodies."

DiNozzo checked his watch. "Will he even be in yet? What time is it in DC?" He paused. "For that matter, what time is it here?"

Lorne chuckled from where he had been forgotten. "Don't worry. You'll get used to it."

"Hmm," DiNozzo accepted as he walked for the door. "That's what I'm worried about."

Tony left, giving his head a small shake. Ziva followed him after a moment, giving Lorne an encouraging smile. Gibbs watched, and then moved to sit down beside the major, wondering how long the silence would last.

After a moment though, he was the one to break it. "Sheppard will be fine," he told Lorne with determination.

Lorne sighed, sounding exhausted. "I know. Eventually. Probably. It's just… bull-."

A huge crash from within the infirmary interrupted the man, and sharing a look, the two of them sprang to their feet, hands reaching for sidearms even as they dashed towards where the noise was coming from. Towards where someone was shouting and cursing.

In Polish. "Amerykańskie świnie!" It sounded like Piotrowski was awake. "Zostawcie mnie!"

Lorne burst through the doors only a half second in front of Gibbs, the major already steely eyed at the sound of the Pole's voice. In the middle of the room, one of Atlantis' marines stubbornly held down the re-bleeding Piotrowski, keeping him from dashing over the side of the bed, and dragging it away by his cuffed hand. Lorne quickly joined his man, not being gentle, shoving the prisoner's shoulders down with a vicious push.

Gibbs paused a few feet away, sharing a look with the nurse Marie, before deciding to leave this to the irate soldiers. The agent didn't even want to think would happen if he got in the way of these two men.

"Easy there, tiger," Lorne snarled, holding his forearm against Piotrowski's throat. "Don't want you pulling your stitches."

Piotrowski spat up at him, a glare on his white face. "American pigs!" he repeated, this time in English. "Let me go!"

"Not just yet," Lorne told him, nodding at the other soldier as he pulled a set of handcuffs from somewhere. "You've got a few questions to answer first. And I'm sure Colonel Sheppard would love to have a chat once he's woken up."

If anything, that only made the prisoner sneer. "If he wakes up in time." The sneer deepened. "If he wakes up at all."

With a growl, Lorne gave Piotrowski a hard elbow to his head, before standing upright, moving back just as the other soldier – Gibbs thought it was Lieutenant McCormac – locked the second cuff tight around both Piotrowski's wrist and the bed rail. The Pole glared at him as well, testing the strength immediately, apparently not noticing the blood spreading over his side.

Marie did, and she moved to take a step before glancing at Lorne for permission. She seemed a bit shaken with all that was happening.

For a minute Gibbs almost thought Lorne was going to let the man bleed to death, while he and McCormac just stared down with righteous anger, hatred. But after a moment Lorne gave a sharp nod, and Marie moved forward again. As her fingers moved deftly over the bloody bandage, Lorne stared at Piotrowski, a hard glare on his face.

"Where's the rest of the team?" Lorne asked, obviously needing to do something while his CO just hung onto life in the next room. Needing to be useful. "Where are you hiding them? Who's hiding them?"

Piotrowski's sneer was ruined by the wince and flinch as Marie accidentally pressed against his wounded side. "Maybe I do not know that."

Lorne growled. "No, you know. And the sooner you tell me, the easier it will be for you."

The cuffed man actually laughed. "You do not scare me," he told the major. "I know your kind. Weak. Pathetic. Like your colonel."

Lorne's hand was twitching, and Gibbs suddenly had the image of the infected major from four months ago, twitching and pacing in the isolation chamber while he was under the influence of the Wraith virus. And Gibbs suddenly knew this was not going anywhere good.

"I'm only going to ask one more time," Lorne warned slowly. "Where is the rest of the team?"

Piotrowski sat upright, the dark sneer back. Marie flinched away from him as he moved, her face going a little paler, but Lorne was the only one the Pole was looking at, every word intended to strike the major deep. "Waiting," Piotrowski hissed. "Waiting for the Wraith to complete their plan, and come back. And suck. Them. Dry."

Lorne roared, rushing forward, hand reaching for his side, eyes showing every intention. Marie cried out, "Major, no!" and moved to intercept, but the stocky man obviously ignored her, or was too deep in his murderous rage to even hear. McCormac watched with wide eyes, half-panicked, half-uncaring, too much so to move.

Gibbs on the other hand had moved before even Lorne had, sensing what was coming. Before the major had taken three steps, Gibbs had him tight by the upper arm and was pulling him back, pushing him against the wall, and somehow managing to keep him there: deep down Lorne really didn't want to kill a bound man, no matter who he was, or what he had done.

"Stop it," he ordered softly, pushing again as Lorne tried to move forward. "I said, stop it!"

Lorne yanked his arm free, glaring at Gibbs again. "You have no right to interfere!"

"I don't care," Gibbs told him quietly, his voice strong. Commanding. Like the good soldier he was, Lorne responded, calming slightly. Slightly. "You can't do this."

"The hell I can't," Lorne snapped, eyes flaring. He pointed at Piotrowski, glanced angrily at him. "That… bastard helped torture Sheppard. I know he did!"

"I know it too," Gibbs told him. "Trust me, I know." He looked Lorne in the eyes and didn't drop the gaze. "But that… this, this is not you. You aren't him, major."

There was a moment of silence, tense silence as the entire infirmary seemed to wait. Gibbs still didn't drop Lorne's gaze, hoping the man would listen to him.

Finally Lorne gave a small growl, and turned sharply: Gibbs had to take a quick step back to avoid being taken out by a shoulder. Lorne ignored it, obviously needing some way to vent his anger as he stalked towards the door and out of the infirmary.

Gibbs avoided taking a deep, relieved breath in front of McCormac and Piotrowski. Especially Piotrowski. He still needed to question the man. He wasn't sure how he was going to do it, but he still needed to find McKay, Teyla and Ronon. And at the moment, Piotrowski was his only lead.

He turned and walked back towards the man, even as Marie moved to continue her patching him back up. Piotrowski ignored the woman though, concentrating on Gibbs, a wary, suspicious look on his face.

"Do you think I tell you?" the Pole demanded after a moment of tense silence, shifting slightly under Marie's hands. "I will not tell anyone."

"I don't know," Gibbs told him quietly. "These people can be pretty persuasive when they want to be."

Piotrowski sneered. "What my own people can do is much worse." He gave a dry chuckle. "Just ask your colonel."

Gibbs tensed, but he didn't respond to it. He wasn't going to make the same mistake Lorne had made. He wouldn't let this man bait him.

"The problem is, Borys, your people aren't going to see you again. The colonel's people are. And they're pissed."

"Are you not also the colonel's people?" Piotrowski asked, grinning. "Are you not… pissed?"

"I'm not the colonel's people," Gibbs told him. He grabbed the nearest stool and pulled it closer, sitting down. "I really don't care what happens to you one way or the other. All I care about is that you answer my questions. Preferably before they shoot you out into space."

Piotrowski ignored him as his eyes widened with giddy realisation. "You must be the Gibbs," he said slowly. "The man Sheppard called off the telephone."

That sent a worried shiver down his spine, but Gibbs didn't let it show. "Where is the team, Borys?"

The Pole didn't answer. "NCIS Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs." He gave a small grin. "A man who gets the job done. But we also have men who get the job done."

"They're not going to get this job done," Gibbs told him with some confidence. "You're against the entire military of the biggest alliance Earth has ever seen, with the technology millions of years ahead of your Glauberyts." He hoped no one would mind him telling the man this. He figured Piotrowski had already guessed most of it anyway. "And even if they don't get you, I'm sure the Wraith will turn on you the moment they get hungry."

Piotrowski chuckled. "Perhaps. Perhaps not. Perhaps when their plan is complete, we will rule the planet for them."

Gibbs actually laughed. "We are talking about the same Wraith here, right? Life-sucking aliens? Who see humans as herd animal? And you're going to rule for them? You're going to be food for them. From what I've seen, it's not the most pleasant way to die."

The injured man just shook his head. "You will see, Agent Gibbs. Once their plan is complete, you will see."

The agent crossed his arms. "And what plan would that be?"

"So blunt, Agent Gibbs," Piotrowski sneered. "Aren't you going to try to trick me? Maybe you could bring the major back in, and play good-cop, bad-cop, like on the television, no?"

"Where is the team?" Gibbs demanded softly. "And what are the Wraith planning?"

Piotrowski laid back in his bed, wincing slightly at the pull on his injury, but somehow still managing to chuckle as Marie walked away with her head down. But the man wasn't laughing at her. He wasn't laughing at anything.

"You will see, Agent Gibbs. You will see."

* * *

"She needs help!" Rodney cried at their captors as they walked past him, ignoring him. "Please, help her. She's dying! Goddammit, don't walk away from me!"

Ronon closed his eyes, pushing down the hope that McKay would be able to talk sense into them. Like they cared, these humans who had sold them out to the Wraith. In their eyes, Teyla was already dead, so it didn't matter how she really died. Didn't matter that she had slipped into unconsciousness ten minutes ago and couldn't be woken.

Resting his head against the bars to find some sense of coolness – he wasn't as bad as Teyla, but he knew he was running his own fever – he just sighed when the door to their prison closed.

In a strange role reversal – Ronon thought it had something to do with Rodney now being on his home territory, while the Satedan really was the alien – McKay was the one who lost control, screaming as loud as he could with his frustration and fear, kicking out at the bars and then crying out with the pain as he jarred a toe or three.

Even that wasn't enough to disturb Teyla the slightest. She didn't move, didn't open her eyes, didn't do anything except continue with her laboured breathing.

McKay continued pacing in his cell, obviously hating his uselessness. Ronon listened carefully to him, almost proud of him. He wasn't giving up hope, not anymore, not except for tiny slips he thought Ronon didn't hear. Doubts about how Sheppard was doing, doubts that they would get out of this hellhole. But for the most part he was holding into hope, and Ronon knew he should take a leaf out of his teammate's book.

But looking over at Teyla, at where she was struggling to hold on, he couldn't help but think that if Sheppard didn't find them soon, the result was only going to be tragedy.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

Ziva heard Ducky before she could see him through the doors of Vance's office.

"What do you mean, she is unavailable?" The doctor demanded loudly. Angrily. "Where is she? She usually beats me here, even when I come in early."

Thinking about the time, Ziva quickly checked her watch, still set on DC time. 0500. She shook her head, wondering if you could get jetlag when you were being instantaneously transported by alien beaming technology.

Guessing it didn't matter – and guessing that it was tiredness getting to her, not jetlag – Ziva approached Vance's door. Behind her, Dawson just sighed at the loud, annoyed voices and got ready, knowing he was going to be the centre of any attacks this time.

"Ms Sciuto was reassigned, _temporarily_," Vance answered Ducky as Ziva raised her hand to knock. "She is needed on a top-secret -."

Ziva knocked, interrupting the NCIS Director, before grabbing the door handle and walking in. She figured at five o'clock in the morning he wouldn't mind her not waiting for his answer.

Both of them turned to stare at her as she walked in, and when he spotted her, Ducky sighed with some relief. "Maybe now I can have some answers?"

"Probably," Ziva told him. "Director, Ducky, this is Captain Dawson."

The marine waved at them, stepping up to stand beside Ziva. "Sir," he nodded at Vance. "Mr Woolsey requests the assistance of Dr Mallard." He handed out a letter prepared quickly by the Atlantis commander, which Vance took but didn't read.

Ducky turned slowly towards Vance. "I should have known. This is something to do with Atlantis."

Both Vance and Dawson sighed, the younger man shaking his head. "Does everyone at NCIS know about Atlantis?"

"No, not everyone," Vance answered through gritted teeth. "And what does Woolsey want with the doctor?" He paused, studying both Ziva and Dawson. "You found someone."

He said it without emotion, obviously thinking he was right, and that they had found someone. Dead.

Dawson was quick to tell him otherwise. "We found Colonel Sheppard." Ducky's face paled for a second before the captain continued. "He's alive. The men who tried to corner him didn't fare so well, and now they need to be autopsied. Agent Gibbs said you were the best man for the job, Dr Mallard."

"Call me Ducky," the shorter man told Dawson. "And I won't be a moment, just let me find some things I will need."

"Hang on," Vance ordered before Ducky could even start moving towards the door. "I believe I get some say in this. And I haven't said yes. You already have my forensics. Now you need my morgue?"

Captain Dawson stood up straighter. "Yes sir, we do. It might make all the difference in finding the rest of the team." He paused. "If you like, I could have General O'Neill come down and explain matters?"

Vance gave a small growl and chucked the letter down on the table, still unopened. He had decided not to bother. "You Atlantis people are all the same." He shook his head. "Fine. Leave a note for Palmer. Please don't say where you're going."

At that Ducky looked up. "And where is it exactly that I'm going?" he asked Dawson, with a glance at Ziva. Dawson grinned.

"Not far, doctor. Ducky. I'll help you grab your things."

"Thank you, captain. Director."

Ducky all but ran out of the office, not enough like Abby to really show his childish excitement, and not enough like Gibbs to not show excitement at all. Dawson cracked a grin behind the doctor's back as he held the door open for Ziva. When he realised she wasn't actually following, he glanced at Vance and said, "I'll see you in the morgue in five."

Ziva nodded to him and then turned to Vance as the door closed.

"What the hell is going on at Atlantis?" Vance demanded. "The damn Air Force isn't telling me a damn thing."

Ziva wasn't surprised. "We've been in and out of Poland since we got there," she told him, understanding his need to know. She wasn't about to spill Atlantis' deepest, darkest secrets, but Vance deserved to know what his people were doing. "We found out from a hospital that Sheppard was alive, and that the men who were after him were loyal to a man named Gabrys Szymański. So we watched him, and found Borys Piotrowski. We followed Piotrowski, and he eventually led us to Sheppard."

"And the rest of the team?" Vance asked, filtering the information in his head.

Ziva shook her head. "No news, yet. Gibbs is questioning Piotrowski now, and we're waiting for Sheppard to wake up."

Vance paused, obviously hearing the hope in her voice. "How is Sheppard?"

The Mossad officer sighed. "Not good. The gang tortured him, and in his escape, he was shot, fell into the Bay of Gdańsk and only just escaped the hospital. He was shot again when Piotrowski led us to him – they were trying to recapture him."

"Good thing you were there, then," Vance decided heavily. "What's next?"

"No idea," Ziva shrugged. "I guess I will find out when I get back to Atlantis. I think Gibbs intends to wait in Atlantis until Sheppard wakes up. DiNozzo is sorting evidence. I assume I will go back to help McGee watch Szymański."

Vance nodded. "Good luck. And try to hurry up. People are starting to wonder why a whole team is not here. I'm running out of excuses."

Ziva nodded with a small grin, before turning and leaving, making her way down to the morgue. Thankfully the office was empty, so there was no one to question why she was just ducking into the office at five am. NCIS agents had a way of being too curious for their own good some times.

When she reached the morgue, Ducky was by his desk, leaning over a sheet of paper, writing away furiously. Dawson was wandering around the sterile tables, looking at everything with some interest, and only glanced up as Ziva entered the room.

"Ready to go?" she asked, wondering exactly what Ducky was writing to Palmer. It seemed to be getting on a little bit.

But even as she spoke, Ducky signed the letter and stood up, reaching out to grab his hat and his jacket. Then he turned to her, a bright expression on his face, nerves in his eyes. "Ready? I assume they have everything I'd need? I'm quite looking forward to seeing Atlantis. As a boy, I loved the -."

"We're not heading straight to Atlantis," Dawson interrupted, coming over, hand moving from his radio. "There's some paperwork first. Daedalus, we're ready."

Bright white light filled the morgue and an instant later, Ziva, Dawson and Ducky were standing on the bridge of the Daedalus, watching the sun light beginning to filter over the eastern United States.

"Oh my," Ducky muttered, dropping his coat and hat onto the ground. "Now there's a sight."

"Hmm, a sight you won't be able to tell anyone," a bemused voice said from behind. Ziva turned to see Colonel Caldwell watching, clearly worried about all these new people from NCIS and their ability to keep a secret. "At least, after you sign the non-disclosure statement."

Ducky nodded absently. "Of course." He managed to turn around, though he tried to keep sight of the slowly rotating planet for as long as he could. "Non-disclosure statements?"

Dawson managed to hide his grin and turned to the examiner. "Just a dotted line saying you're not going to tell anyone about Atlantis or the Stargate Program," he told the man. "It'll only take a minute, and then we'll be on our way to Atlantis."

Ziva moved to follow Dawson as he led Ducky off the bridge – the older man taking one last wistful glance at Earth – but Caldwell stopped her.

"Officer David."

She turned to look at him, curious as to what he wanted. He didn't keep her waiting. "Your orders are to return to Gdańsk," he told her. "Agent Gibbs wants you to meet up with Walker at the hotel. He wants you to give McGee and Trohman a break."

She smothered a sigh and put her hands in her pockets. "Now?" she asked. "I wanted to see Ducky get to Atlantis."

"Ducky?" Caldwell asked, before guessing. "Dr Mallard. He'll be fine. Meanwhile, Gibbs said something about McGee being in the freezing cold for five hours straight."

Ziva nodded. "The hotel it is. Can you tell Ducky good luck for me?"

"Sure thing," the colonel told her slowly. "Good luck yourself, Officer David."

And then white light surrounded her, and the next thing she knew she was staring at Walker's face and the heavy coat in his outstretched hand. She gave it a glance, quickly figuring out what time it was here, while Walker shrugged.

"It's started raining again."

* * *

"Oh my."

Gibbs turned on his feet as he heard Ducky's exclamation, in time to find the doctor coming to stand beside him. Captain Dawson wasn't far behind, a perplexed look on his face.

"He's been saying that a lot."

Gibbs could only imagine, squashing the tiny amount of guilt at not going to see Ducky arrive at Atlantis. He turned back to watching the reason he hadn't.

"How long's the colonel been out of surgery?" Dawson asked quietly, a bit taken aback at the sight of his commander.

"Maybe an hour." Dawson and Ziva had taken longer than Woolsey had thought they would. No doubt Vance was making things difficult. "Probably less."

"He does not look good," Ducky breathed. "I remember when he came into NCIS six months ago. So full of life."

"He actually looks a lot worse than he is," a woman's voice called from behind them. Gibbs turned around to find Dr Keller approaching their position in the doorway to the dark room Sheppard was in. She smiled gently at Ducky. "Hi, you must be Dr Mallard. I'm Dr Keller."

"What she forgot to mention, is that she's the woman who saved Sheppard's life," Gibbs added, leaning against the doorway.

"Well, he helped out," Keller told them. "I patched him up: he survived it."

"Still not an easy job, I'm sure," Ducky told her, glancing back at Sheppard where he was sleeping in his bed. Ever the charmer, he added, "And you must call me Ducky."

She grinned at him, taking the hand he offered her. "That's a story I think I'd like to hear, one day," she told him. "For now though, I need to see to my patient."

She pushed past them, into the room. The lights flickered on as Dawson followed her in, though Gibbs was sure the man's ATA had little to do with it. "Hey, doc," the captain called quietly. He slowed as he approached Sheppard's bed, glancing at his CO again. "How's he doing? So I can tell Walker and Trohman when I get back to Gdańsk."

She smiled again, tired, still worried, but apparently not about Sheppard. "He's doing good, all things considered. The latest bullet wounds were clean, and missed anything vital. The older ones were infected, but a round of antibiotics should clean that up. As for the tor-." She paused, the only sign that something bothered her. Gibbs could guess why. "What they did to him, it was mainly superficial. They were looking to hurt, not maim." She shook her head, taking a deep breath. "Bruises and burns will fade, and fractures heal. He's doing good, captain. He really is."

Dawson heaved a sigh, half-relieved, half-exhausted. "That's good news. Thanks, doc." He turned back to NCIS. "Ready Ducky? I'll take you to the crime scene, and Woolsey assigned two people to help out, so they should be there already. With strict orders not to touch anything," he added before Ducky had even opened his mouth. "Come on."

They both left, but Gibbs didn't leave. Instead he watched Keller as she checked the colonel's stats and bandages.

"Is he really doing good?" Gibbs asked after a moment. Keller looked up at him from the other side of the bed.

"He is, Agent Gibbs," she told him, standing upright. "He's incredibly lucky, but he's alive, and he's home. We'll take care of him." She winced for a second, glancing at Sheppard. "Not to put pressure on you or anything, but as long as you find his team before he wakes up, we should even be able to keep him in the infirmary until he's better."

"And if we don't?" Gibbs asked cautiously, definitely feeling the pressure despite her words.

"He's going to want to go after them. And Sheppard has ways of being persuasive."

Gibbs paused, glancing down at the man and then shaking his head. "I don't think we're going to have time for that," he told her, still watching Sheppard.

"No, you can do it," Keller told him, trying to be comforting. "Look, I didn't mean that. Sheppard's going to be -."

"Ah, doc," Gibbs interrupted, glancing up at her. "I know you didn't. It's just that he's waking up."

"What?" Keller demanded, sort of jumping as she bent over to tend to Sheppard. And his fluttering eyes.

* * *

Just like the last time he had clawed his way out of unconsciousness, the first thing to come back to him was hearing. Only this time, to his confusion, they were speaking in English.

_Could've sworn I was in Poland,_ he thought to himself, shifting slightly, or trying to. He needed to wake up. He wasn't quite sure why, but he knew he had to. There was something he hadn't done, something he hadn't finished. Something he needed to watch out for.

But nothing seemed to be moving, and he stopped, as the voices suddenly stopped, becoming aware that he was struggling for freedom from sleep.

"Colonel Sheppard?" a woman asked, a familiar woman, and he tried to think where in Poland he had heard her voice before. The hospital?

"No, you're not in hospital," the voice answered his thoughts, which he thought was a bit strange. He tried to open his eyes. Maybe then he would remember the apparently psychic voice.

"Can you just open your eyes for me, Colonel?" the voice asked again, and he tried to scowl at her.

"'m trying," he mumbled at her with some annoyance.

Finally light crept in from the centre of his eyes, and he blinked, giving a groan, trying to focus. It was hard though, when he was doing it at the same time as realising that his whole body hurt.

Four blurry figures eventually melded into two blurry figures, and those blurry figures began to grow features. One was a woman, hair pulled back as she peered at him with wide eyes. The other was an older man, grey hair, but young eyes. And he knew them.

"Keller?" he managed to get out, his throat hoarse. "Gibbs?" He paused again, realising what that meant. "No!"

He bolted upright, nearly hitting the surprised Keller and Gibbs, wincing as he pulled on aching ribs, putting a hand to them. But he managed to look around at the same time, searching the nearby beds, trying to take stock of everything. It didn't seem to be working.

"Teyla?" he asked, looking back at the doc. "Ronon? McKay?"

"Not yet." It was Gibbs who answered. "But we'll find them. We've got Piotrowski, and we'll get the answers out of him."

"He won't tell you a damn thing," Sheppard snapped angrily, distractedly. He knew where he was. He did. But there was a fog in his head, and only one thought managed to really get through. His team.

"I need to help," he told them determinedly, pushing the covers away, only wincing once as he tried to swing his legs around. It didn't matter, pain he could ignore. "I need to go."

"You don't need to do a damn thing," Gibbs told him harshly, pushing him back all too easily. "The only thing you need to do is rest."

"The hell I do!" John spat, surprised that the agent had interfered. And he had done so before Jennifer had had a chance. "I'm not one of your agents, Gibbs, I'm not taking your orders!"

"If I have to get O'Neill down here, I will," Gibbs warned, still pushing Sheppard down with surprising strength. "You're not going to do your team any good by popping stitches or working yourself into the ground."

John stared at him for a moment, mulling those words over. Mulling over the anger building up at those words. The man had no right. Even worse, he had no idea.

"Don't you dare," Sheppard snarled, giving the older man a rough push away. Gibbs wasn't expecting it, a shocked look on his face as he fell backwards, hitting the ground. Sheppard ignored it, didn't care that even Keller was stunned, her mouth wide. He swung his legs over the side and stood up, ignoring the wobble in his legs as well.

But by the time he had found his feet, Keller had begun moving, the worry for her patient forcing the stunned daze away. Sheppard didn't see her movement, or hear her words, but she must have called for help over her mike. Before John had taken more than three steps towards the exit, two nurses and a marine were in the door, looking for the source of the trouble.

John stumbled to a halt, watching the marine uneasily. The man looked just as uneasy as he came to realise it was his CO causing the problem.

"Colonel Sheppard," Keller called nervously. "Please, you need to take it easy. You've only been out of surgery for an hour and a half, you shouldn't even be awake!"

"No," John told her, never taking his eyes off the marine. "I need to find my team!"

Where were they? What did he have to do to find them? Dammit, he had lost the bald guy's trail. Why had he… wait, they had Piotrowski?

Giving a growl, he stormed forward, one thought on his mind. The only problem was, that thought had pushed aside the knowledge that a marine was blocking his path.

Even as Keller cried for someone to stop him, the marine stepped up, arms spread, hands coming for him. "Sir, please."

Sheppard reacted. Not thinking beyond the need to get Piotrowski to talk, he reacted, seeing only another foe. The marine's arms were outstretched, trying to be calming, warning, but all Sheppard saw were the hands trying to grab him. Sheppard reached out to grab one of those outstretched arms, needing to get past, needing to stay free, needing to find Piotrowski in this all too familiar –

Another body slammed into him, and Sheppard's head was still too hazy to react until he was up against the wall, a strong arm twisting his up behind his back. He bucked under the weight, growling, desperate. He couldn't do this again, he refused to, he would not sit in that chair one moment longer and not be able to do anything as -

"Sheppard, you can stop fighting now," Gibbs told him, and it took John a moment to realise it was the agent who had him in a stronghold. He tried to fight back anyway, to get away, but the calm orders smothered whatever energy had fuelled him before and he sagged, taking in Gibbs' words.

"That's it," Gibbs soothed, softly enough that no one else could hear. "You're safe, Sheppard. You're in Atlantis."

Sheppard shook his head. He felt relief, as he realised exactly where he was, why he knew this place. Gibbs was right, it was Atlantis, and the haze was beginning to clear. But the relief at being home couldn't quite cover the guilt that he was safe and his team wasn't.

"I left them behind." He slammed a fist into the wall and gave a growl. "I left them behind."


	10. Chapter 10

**Author's Note:** Thanks to everyone who's reviewed so far, you're totally awesome!

And now for some explanation!

* * *

**Chapter 10**

"They ambushed us in our motel rooms."

Sheppard looked up at his audience: General O'Neill, Woolsey, Gibbs and Keller. He sighed to stifle a wince as Keller's drugs started to disappear from his body. He needed to be able to think straight, to think clearly. He needed to find his team. He needed to remember.

"We'd gotten a lead in Germany, like I said when we checked in last," he explained from the bed Keller had managed to persuade him back into. "One of the deaths there worked for this company, which wouldn't have meant anything if two of the deaths in Poland hadn't also worked for a computer research company, and both companies hadn't been owned by Gabrys Szymański."

He shook his head. "But while we were closing in on them, they were closing in on us. We went to check out Szymański's house, and when we got back, they were waiting.

"When I woke up, we were in a warehouse down by the docks, probably owned by Szymański as well, I'm not sure, haven't had a chance to check it out. Teyla said the Wraith weren't there, and when I asked, the leader of the gang -." _Bald head, quick as lightening, jammed the barrel down on his thigh, a sadistic grin on his -_. "said they were busy getting a plan into action."

He rubbed his eyes, hoping no one else had spotted his pause. "We didn't get a chance to escape for a week." Or so he had found out later. It had felt so much longer. "We ambushed them when they brought food, got out of the warehouse. But they were quick, and after us before we had gotten a block. We tried to get through them, but there were too many. We didn't have a chance. So, when I spotted the payphone, I called Gibbs. Someone needed to know we were alive."

"So why didn't you call the SGC?" Woolsey asked, confused.

"Or my number, seeing as you're so liberal with it?" O'Neill added with only a little heat.

"They didn't know who we were, and I didn't want that to change," Sheppard explained, trying not to think about all the ways they had tried to change that. "I knew they could get the info from the phone, and they hadn't connected us to the Stargate. Or to anything, as hard as they'd tried." He paused, wishing he hadn't added that bit. "And I knew that if we were caught again, Gibbs and his team were probably the only ones who could find us."

That seemed to surprise the silent agent, but no one else noticed it. O'Neill and Woolsey shared a look before the general continued. "But you did escape. How?"

"It was an accident, really," Sheppard said quietly, looking down at his covers, feeling guilty. "We were running down this hill, but it led out into the open, and they were closing in. I was helping Teyla, and Rodney and Ronon were helping each other. We were still trying to get away, but suddenly Teyla went heavy, and we both fell." He ignored the way his voice went hoarse. "She'd been shot, I think. I'm not sure, it's all pretty hazy. But she told me to go. Gave me her gun and told me to go. And I did. Or I tried. I ran, they cornered me. I was right on the edge of the dock. I tried to shoot them, they shot me. I fell into the water." He shrugged. "Next thing I know, I'm waking up in hospital. I spent the next day sitting across from Szymański's house. Found a better lead. It led into a trap, and that's where you guys came in."

"And the rest we know," Woolsey surmised. Sheppard nodded, glad. He didn't want to go over anymore.

"Just one thing," O'Neill said though. "Why didn't you try contacting anyone again? Or getting out of Gdańsk?"

"For one, my team was still there," Sheppard reminded him, trying not to let his voice go hard at the general. "And two, they were watching all the exits, all the public phones, all communications. Szymański's a big communications guy, he could have caught my call in the air, and I didn't want to lead him to the Stargate." He paused, needing to get away from recounting his whole life story. "So, when can I get back to Gdańsk?"

"Back to -?" Woolsey demanded, shocked. "Not a chance, colonel."

John's hands tightened on the sheets. "Why not?" he asked as levelly as he could manage. "I need to find them."

"You said it yourself, Gibbs is the best person to do that," Woolsey argued back. "You need to get better." He paused, indecisive for a moment, before he squared his shoulders and continued. "Do you think we don't know, Sheppard? About what they did to you?" Everyone saw Sheppard's flinch, saw his fists tighten again. Woolsey's voice softened, as if he suddenly regretted his words. "You need to rest, you need to get better. You need to talk to someone and let the doctors do -."

"I don't need to do shit," Sheppard snapped. "What I need to do is find the team that I _abandoned_."

"You did what you had to -."

"Woolsey, leave it," O'Neill suddenly interrupted. "Just… go away for a minute. Everyone, out. You too, Doc."

It took a minute for everyone to start moving. Gibbs was the first to leave, never looking back, for some reason staying silent through the entire interrogation. Sheppard knew he would have questions later, worse questions, questions he probably wouldn't want to answer. Watching the agent leave, Woolsey threw his hands up and marched out, a worried Keller hot on his heels.

Sheppard spoke before the general could. "Sir, please. I need to help them. I need -."

"Sheppard, shut up," O'Neill interrupted wearily. "I know you want to help. But what you really need to do is rest. You were tortured, Sheppard. I know it's not fun. I know what it does to you."

John licked his lips, trying to control his emotions, trying to control the flashbacks. "Then you know that just sitting here in this damn bed, thinking about it every second is not going to help. Picturing it happening to my team is not going to help."

He hadn't meant to say that last sentence, but O'Neill seemed to be expecting it anyway. "And did it?" the general asked softly. "Happen to your team, I mean?"

John really didn't want to answer but as usual his mouth wasn't connected to his brain. "Not as much. I guess they picked up on that whole leadership thing." He had made sure they picked up on it. "But that hasn't got anything to do with my needing to be out there, sir."

"No," O'Neill agreed, crossing his arms. "It's got everything to do with you _wanting_ to be out there."

"Yes, I want to be out there," Sheppard admitted. "Because sitting in this damn bed when I'm perfectly capable of helping Gibbs find them is not going to do anything. It wasn't even that bad – they were saving us for the Wraith."

"I think I'll save the 'how bad' for Keller," O'Neill told him wryly. "Besides, there's the four bullet holes in you as well."

But he was breaking, Sheppard could tell it. "None of which hit any major arteries or anything like that. And I'll be with Gibbs and his team, so that in the unlikely event that I do keel over, they'll be there."

O'Neill sighed and Sheppard knew he had convinced him. "Keller's going to kill me," he said with a shake of his head. "Just don't leave base yet. Give it a couple of hours, see how you're travelling. I can't believe I'm doing this. Gibbs is going to be watching you so close," the general warned, still shaking his head. "One sign something isn't right, and you're right back in this bed, and I don't give a damn what face you pull."

He turned and stalked out of the room, the set of his shoulders telling the whole world he didn't much like being talked into things by lieutenant colonels, while John was left to wonder exactly what face he was pulling.

Pushing it aside, relieved that finally he was going to get back to what he had to do, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed, already feeling much stronger. Not better, not by a long shot – O'Neill had been right, four bullet holes was more than he usually had to contend with – but better. Outside, he suddenly heard Keller's voice.

"You what?"

Sheppard bit back a small grin, picturing the woman confronting the Air Force General.

"I'm letting him go back." O'Neill told her somewhat quieter while Sheppard looked around for some clothes. "Hey, you said yourself that he's doing far better than you expected."

"That doesn't mean he can go back out on that mission!"

"It does mean that being here isn't going to help much when his team's still out there."

There was a strange noise and if Sheppard hadn't known her any better, he would have said Keller had growled. "Why?"

There was a pause, and John strained to hear the answer, curious. Finally, O'Neill answered softly, "Because I know what it's like."

* * *

"I didn't really find anything useful," DiNozzo told him from where he stood in the centre of the crime scene. Gibbs wasn't sure how, but the Daedalus really had beamed all they could here. Including the floor, complete with blood stains and, before Ducky had removed them to be autopsied, bodies. "At least, nothing that says, 'McKay, Ronon and Teyla are here'."

Gibbs nodded, absently wondering how long it would be until the colonel was here, checking things out. He knew these military types: they tended to back each other up, even if one was a few stars above the other. O'Neill would let Sheppard go back to Gdańsk.

DiNozzo looked around the crime scene. "Abby's running ballistics, but the bad guys' guns all appear to be similar makes to the ones Sheppard and his team used to escape. Well, except for the three guys using machine guns."

Gibbs moved over to him, knowing there wouldn't have been anything here that would be useful but still disappointed. "When did Ducky take the bodies?"

"About half an hour ago," Tony answered. "Checked their temps, took some photos… time of death agrees with the ambush, so nothing weird went on there."

"Like what?" Gibbs demanded, slightly annoyed and worried about the way DiNozzo's brain worked sometimes.

The younger agent shrugged. "Who knows, but this is Atlantis. Oh, and I also found this."

He grabbed a small silver box out of his pocket and passed it to Gibbs, who recognised it instantly as a digital camera. Finding the on button, he took a quick look at a few of the pictures. Most of them were of a bald Polish guy, as well as a few other muscled brutes. There were also a few of…

"What is this?"

"Neptune's Fountain," DiNozzo asked without hesitation. "It's in the centre of Long Market, one of the main tourist attractions of Gdansk. Obviously in the bit we didn't visit, seeing as Sheppard likes dealing with the downs and dirties."

"How the hell do you know that?" Gibbs demanded, moving back to the pictures of people, shaking his head.

"I, uh, Wikipedia'd it before we left," he answered uncomfortably. "I wanted to know more about Gdańsk." He cleared his throat. "I'm guessing its Sheppard's. One of the photos on there matches one of our dead Poles."

"And the fountain?"

"Camera wasn't always mine," Sheppard suddenly spoke from the doorway. "Unless of course you're being cops," he added with a grin as he walked in, much to DiNozzo obvious surprise. "Then I just really like fountains."

"How are you even wake right now?" Tony blurted out, shocked. "You looked like hell."

He was looking a lot better though, Gibbs had to admit. Even the ten minutes he had been away had brought most of the colour back to the colonel's face.

Sheppard just shrugged at DiNozzo's words. "I heal quick," he said nonchalantly. "Did the bad guys leave anything useful behind?"

"Just their bodies," Tony answered. "Of course, 'your' camera should help out a bit. We'll get to know a few more suspects."

"I think they're more than suspects," Gibbs interrupted, turning to Sheppard. "Let me guess, some tourist?"

Not hearing any accusation – he had done what he needed to – John shrugged again. "They should have been watching their bags better." Hell, the camera wasn't the least of the things he had stolen. He just wished he could have kept the bike. "Can you find out the names of those men?"

"With any luck," Gibbs answered truthfully.

"McGee's a genius, so that's a yes," DiNozzo added optimistically.

"Speaking of McGee," Gibbs told his younger agent. "He should be finished sleeping by now." Surely he only needed an hour or two. Or he could deal with an hour or two. "Tell him to expect an email from Abby, and to work on finding out everything about these people. And then go take Ziva some coffee. She's watching Szymański's house."

"Be careful," Sheppard warned, his voice hard all of a sudden. "Szymański knows more than he lets on. And he's got guys hidden where you'll never see them."

Thinking about that, Gibbs added, "Try to find another spot to watch his house from. After you take Ziva her coffee. I think Dawson's waiting for you in the motel room." And that made him wonder where Lorne had gotten to. Hopefully not back to Piotrowski. Actually now that Sheppard was awake and being stubborn again, they should probably move the Pole, to keep him safe until he could talk. He hadn't like Sheppard's reactions while –

"Hello, Earth to Agent Gibbs."

Sheppard was calling, and the agent shook his head, looking around. "What?" he demanded.

"Just wondering what your next step was. I have to wait on base for three hours before I can go back to Gdańsk, and I was hoping you had some things to do here so I wouldn't be bored out of my brains."

"I've got a few people to talk to," Gibbs admitted. "Abby and Ducky mostly."

"Wait, they're here?" Sheppard asked with some enthusiasm. "How the hell did you get Woolsey to agree to that?"

"How'd you get Keller to agree to let you go back to Gdańsk?" Gibbs shot back as he led the way out of the room.

"I didn't. I convinced General O'Neill." But he still didn't say how, and Gibbs got the impression that he wasn't going to. "So, Abby or Ducky first?"

Gibbs stopped, though it took Sheppard a few steps to realise it. When he did, the colonel turned, frowning, before walking back. "What is it?" he asked warily.

"What are you doing, Sheppard?"

Sheppard was silent for a moment, staring down at him. "What do you think?" he demanded quietly. Angrily. "I'm finding my team."

"After what just happened to you?" Gibbs asked. "You're not right for this mission, Sheppard, and you know it."

"I'm fine for this mission, Gibbs," the colonel hissed, stepping in closer. "And I don't give squat what you think about it. I'm not being left behind on this one!"

"You think I didn't see it!" Gibbs snapped, standing toe to toe, glare to glare with the man. "I'm a trained investigator, Sheppard. I'm trained to see all those flinches, those looks, every time a hand clenches, or an eye blurs over. I saw them all," he added slowly. "You are not ready to be out there, in Gdańsk."

"Well, you're going to have to deal with it," Sheppard told him, shaking his head, and turning to walk away.

"You're a liability!"

Sheppard spun hard, his face a storm of fury. "Don't you dare! You weren't out there, you have no idea! You don't know me!"

Gibbs was silent for a minute. "No. Apparently not. Because the Sheppard I know would never let his men go out like this. He would never let his men go out to rescue people from the man who had him _tortured_ for a week. And I always thought he'd have enough sense to set the same rules for himself."

Sheppard struggled with his words. "I'm not an idiot, Gibbs," he said quietly. "But I'm not sitting this one out. I can't."

Gibbs kept his gaze level, trying to read the man, trying to understand. And he did. He really did, but in this case, he had the advantage of distance. Still, he finally nodded. "Okay, Sheppard. Okay. Just keep those words in mind. Cause I'm not above knocking you out and bringing you back here myself, if you put my people in danger."

"I won't," Sheppard promised solemnly. "Besides, I'll be under your eye the whole time. Just… I need to do this, Gibbs."

The agent nodded again. "Okay. Let's go."

He took Sheppard to Abby's lab first, knowing half an hour wasn't long enough for the coroner to barely start one autopsy, let alone have anything of value. They walked along in slightly uncomfortable silence: but he understood. He knew why Sheppard wanted to be out there. He knew exactly why O'Neill had agreed to let Sheppard go back to Gdańsk, because he would have felt exactly the same way had their roles been reversed.

He wondered whether Vance would have let him go.

Abby's music was playing at a decent level as they walked into her temporary lab, but the unorthodox choice had Sheppard chuckling, even more so when he saw what it was being played on.

"Somehow I doubt that was what the Ancients used it for," Sheppard said with only a slightly raised voice. "But A+ for ingenuity."

At his words Abby spun, startled, from the computer she was working at, her eyes going wide as she spotted the pilot.

"Colonel Sheppard. Gibbs. Right, results."

Still giving Sheppard the eye, she walked over the music, put her hand on top and turned the volume down to a manageable level. Then, as she turned to face them completely, she looked suspiciously at Gibbs and moved her hands deftly.

_Is he even supposed to be alive right now?_

Gibbs tried to hide his grin, answering her in sign language as well. _Stubbornness._

Abby glanced at the annoyed colonel. _Is that how he got himself out of the infirmary?_

Gibbs shook his head. _He has a silver tongue._

From where he had stopped, Sheppard rolled his eyes and cleared his throat, catching the attention of both NCIS agents, his eyes smug as his hands came together. _I can understand you, you know._

Abby's jaw dropped as both men moved forward, and Gibbs had to be honest, he hadn't been expecting that. "You know how to sign?"

Sheppard shrugged as he paused at Abby's computer. "Figured I was hanging around a few too many explosions, would probably need it one day."

Gibbs shook his head before turning the matter aside. "What have you got Abs?"

"A distinct lack of Caf-Pow," she answered instantly. "But that's okay, because I went and raided McKay's Red Bull stash. The man has no imagination in hiding spots."

"That's what I've been telling him," Sheppard said without much enthusiasm. Abby got the point and hurried on.

"Well, still, I haven't had much time to run everything, but these Ancient machines are lots faster than the ones back home, just don't tell them I said so." She didn't see Sheppard's frown. "I got blood results back a few minutes ago because Keller put them through to the top of the list. A few of the Poles were on drugs, steroids for the most part, a few amphetamines, the usual gang cocktails. Did you really take them all out, colonel? Don't answer that," she added before Sheppard could even open a mouth. She tapped away on her computer.

"There wasn't much actual evidence left over that I could see, though I didn't get anything from the walls, of course, cause they didn't think to beam them in as well." She shook her head. "Ignore that I said that. We need to focus. I did run the faces, one came back from Interpol, Lorenz Balicki, wanted for something to do with a bar fight in Germany two weeks ago. The rest have managed to stay off radar." She tapped another key and a face, no doubt Balicki came up. Sheppard obviously recognised it, nodding firmly but not saying anything. Abby turned away from the computer and headed to a table a few feet further into the lab, one laden with clothes and items in plastic bags.

"It's weird without all the evidential stuff," she told them with a shrug. "But somehow liberating."

"Is this their personal effects?" Sheppard asked before Gibbs could, coming to a halt on Abby's other side to the agent.

She nodded. "Mostly similar sorts of stuff. They loved their leather." She obviously didn't look at Sheppard's worn leather jacket. "And they loved their mud. A few had pig poop on their shoes, and a few also had wheat seeds stuck in their shoes. No one ever remembers the seeds," she added, turning to Sheppard with a raised finger of warning.

"I'll keep it in mind," he comforted her dryly, while Gibbs continued to study the items.

"So, they were on a farm recently," he surmised after a moment.

"That'd be my guess," Abby told him with a sharp nod. "Unless they have pigs and wheat running loose around Gdansk."

"Pigs yes," Sheppard muttered, obviously not meaning the farm animal. "Wheat, not so much."

But he looked troubled. "What's wrong?" Abby demanded. "Doesn't this narrow it down?"

"I guess," Sheppard told her. "I mean, yes. But I began thinking of all the places around Gdańsk with farms and realised…"

"They might not be in Gdańsk anymore."

Sheppard nodded as Gibbs finished his thought, his face going dark. "Right. I mean, I lost sight of them when I fell into the bay. And they had vans, then. But that doesn't mean they stayed on vans. They could have taken off across the bay to… who knows where. They could have gone to the airports, they certainly had enough people there. Hell, they could be anywhere in the world right now."

"Not true," Gibbs told him. "We know Szymański's big in this, so you'd think he would own the place, or have some connection to it."

Sheppard shook his head. "He's the financial backer, and that's it. No, the real ringleader is the bald guy on that camera. Can you find out who he is?"

"If he's in any database around the world, I'll find him," Abby promised, taking the camera off Gibbs. "But it could take me a while."

Sheppard turned to Gibbs, his eyes hard. "In the meantime, I think it's time I had a chat with Piotrowski."

* * *

Yes, I know, I like giving Sheppard awesome abilities!


	11. Chapter 11

**Author's Note:** If I forget to post any time this week, it's because uni hate me... essay due friday, and all my exams next week, within four days... talk about hell on earth!

* * *

**Chapter 11**

"Seen anything useful yet?" DiNozzo asked as he joined Ziva under the cover of the corrugated iron.

She shrugged. "Szymański's been taking a lot of visitors," she told him. "Something's going on. They seem worried about something, but I'm not close enough to be able to tell what."

DiNozzo looked around, using the height of the rooftop to try to pick out something they could use as another vantage point, another spot to watch Szymański. "Maybe it's Sheppard's escape, and Piotrowski's capture. Seen anyone important looking?"

"A bald man surrounded by weapons. He seemed very angry, and he was taking it out on Szymański."

DiNozzo looked down at her. "Sheppard mentioned a bald guy. Abby and McGee are racing to see who can find out who he is first."

"How is Sheppard?" Ziva asked softly, looking over at her colleague. He hadn't said a word about the colonel, and she took it as a sign that things weren't good.

But when DiNozzo snorted with disbelief, she took it as a sign that she might have been wrong.

"The man's a stubborn idiot, that's how he is," he muttered. "He should be on his way back to Gdańsk in a few hours."

Ziva had to admit, she wasn't that surprised. "I'm guessing he's okay then."

"I don't know." And DiNozzo sounded worried. "Physically I guess he can handle. But I'm not worried about physical. What do you think about that building?"

"What?" Ziva asked, not following the sudden change in topic.

"Yeah, the boss wants to move base," Tony explained, moving away from the edge and looking over at where Dawson was chatting with Walker. "Apparently Szymański's sneaky and nasty, not a good combo. Gibbs wants us to be careful."

"Careful it is then," Ziva determined with a strong nod as Tony turned away. She put her eye back to the camera, and the mansion's front gates zoomed into focus. Just in time to see a black van with heavily tinted windows arrive.

"Tony," she called out, suddenly feeling very curious about this one vehicle. There was nothing about in particular, but call it an investigator's nose, or a Mossad officer's back, she was suddenly feeling the sensation that not all was well in the world.

Whatever it was, DiNozzo seemed to sense it to as he took out a scope borrowed from who knew where and planted a look on the van.

"What is it?" Dawson asked from where he and Walker had paused their chat, and were watching their charges with worried glances. The captain glanced down at the building he could just make out with aid, and noticed the van. "What's up with the van?"

"Don't know yet," Ziva told him softly, still watching the van's movements as it drove behind Szymański's tall walls. Licking his lips, Dawson came to join them, pulling out his own scope and staring down at the dark vehicle as it came to a halt before the doors to the mansion.

"Do you recognise it?" Dawson asked after a moment's silence. DiNozzo just made a frustrated sound in the back of his throat and neither NCIS agent answered.

They watched the van for a few seconds before the doors began opening. First the driver and his passenger, two pale, nervous looking men that could hardly be the source of Ziva's sudden discomfort. The sudden feeling of a gun at her back.

Then the door slid open, revealing a dark back. Almost immediately a tall figure stepped out, pale, long hair, pulling at his clothes as he stood up straight, as if he weren't quite used to the suit he was wearing. But he sneered around at all those around him, looking at them coldly, almost… hungrily.

Beside them, Dawson gave a strangled sound in his throat, and that feeling on Ziva's back intensified. But she didn't take her eyes off the van, and off the human-looking occupants just now stepping down after their tall companion. They all looked human, but too tall, too thin, too pale. Too cold, and too hungry.

Ziva felt something cold come over her, and she moved the camera slowly from her eye, shaking her head in denial. DiNozzo wasn't far behind her, and the two shared a look before glancing at Dawson.

"Captain," Ziva drawled slowly, trying to get her mind around the concept. "We've only seen pictures, but that looked like…"

She couldn't bring herself to say it. Not on Earth. Hell, she had thought not in this galaxy. Even after what Woolsey had told them.

Dawson glanced quickly at her, at DiNozzo, and he shook his head. "No. They were wearing make-up, and trying to blend in… but I'd know the Wraith anywhere." He shook his head and shared a look with a suddenly pale Walker. "The Wraith are in Gdańsk."

* * *

"I really don't think this is a good idea," Gibbs suddenly spoke up from where he was walking quickly to keep up with Sheppard.

John glanced at him. He honestly didn't care what the man thought at the moment. As long as the agent helped him get his team back, he could think whatever he liked. "Well, I'm doing it anyway," he said. He needed to. He needed to do this to find his team: he was sure he could talk Piotrowski into telling.

And maybe just a little to prove he could face one of the men who had tortured him.

"Why?" Gibbs demanded. "I don't think he's going to talk."

"Oh, he'll talk," Sheppard promised. They were nearing the infirmary now. Nearing Piotrowski. Sheppard's heart beat just a little bit faster. "He'll tell me where my team is."

"And if he doesn't know?"

John even managed a small grin, though there was no amusement behind it. "He knows. I know he knows. And he'll know what the Wraith are planning, where they are, everything. He's the bald guy's number two. I'm sure of it."

"Wouldn't it be better to wait until we know more about these guys?" Gibbs asked, annoyance coming into his voice. "So we have a chance of backing Piotrowski into a corner, of getting him off balance."

"No." He wasn't going to wait. "We need to do this now, or we never will." He never would.

Gibbs fell silent as they entered the infirmary, putting on a show of solidarity. But Sheppard could still feel him ticking away beneath the surface, and it annoyed him slightly. He knew what he was doing.

The infirmary went silent as he entered, the nurses sharing a glance before looking back at him with some worry. John tried to give them a reassuring smile, but they just shot Gibbs a warning glance. The agent nodded, and the two women went back to their jobs, tense but ignoring the rest of them for the most part.

McCormac was on duty watching a sleeping Piotrowski, and he gave his commander a respectful nod as Sheppard approached. Sheppard nodded back, barely taking his eyes off the Pole as he came to a halt beside the bed. And he waited.

It didn't take long for Piotrowski to realise something had changed in the infirmary, even asleep. He gave a groan, tried to roll over before meeting resistant from the cuffs. Then he made a noise of annoyance before flinging onto his back and opening his eyes.

"Hi Borys," Sheppard greeted quietly.

The effect was almost comical. The man jumped as high as he could while he was on his back and cuffed to the bed, his head snapping around as he did, his wide eyes taking in the lean form standing over him, realising quickly that this could not be a good sign for him.

And then he regained all composure, a smug smirk coming over his face as he shifted to find a comfortable spot on the bed. Sheppard arched an eyebrow and crossed his arms, matching the smirk.

"How's the shoulder?" he asked sweetly, glad to see a flash of anger flare behind Piotrowski's otherwise smug demeanour.

"How's yours?" the Pole shot back, eyes roaming over the colonel. "And the one in your leg? The one in arm? And where did we get you when you fell into our trap?"

"They're all healing fine," John answered with a shrug. If gunshots had been the most of his worries, he would have been a much happier camper. "So, comfy? Happy? Need anything? Think hard, you might be here a while."

Piotrowski sneered. "Only as long as it takes the Wraith to find me," he promised. "Only as long as it takes for them to complete their plan and -."

"Come and eat you?" Sheppard interrupted innocently. "You know that's what they do, right? They take their hand," and he held it up for Piotrowski to see, fingers spread. "And they just plunge. Any idea what it feels like?" he asked, his voice softening. "It's not the most pleasant way to go," Sheppard told him, leaning in closer, for effect. "You can feel the life being sucked right out of your chest. The pain is so intense you have to scream, even though you'd rather be doing something, anything, just to stop the beast draining the years from your life one litre of soul at a time."

Piotrowski looked up at him, eyes a tiny bit wider, but the smug smirk apparently stuck on. "You lie," he sneered. "You have never been fed on by Wraith. Just like I never will."

"Would you like me to prove it?" Sheppard asked, raising the eyebrow again. He really needed to beat some fear into Piotrowski. Without actually beating him, of course.

Of course.

"I've got the Wraith here," he continued slowly. "Once I took my life back, I caught him and made him a pet." What Todd didn't know wouldn't hurt him.

But it only made Piotrowski snort. "How different you are when you are surrounded by your friends," he noted, glancing behind Sheppard at Gibbs. "I remember that dark room where you were not so brave."

To his credit, Shepard didn't even flinch, though he could feel the agent's eyes boring into the back of his skull. "I wasn't trying to be brave. I was trying to be alive." He grinned toothily. "And it worked."

"Yes, here you are, congratulations." He cocked his head slightly, looking up at Sheppard sort of sideways. "But I wonder, how will your friends in Gdańsk fare without you to order them to be silent? Without you there taking the focus, and the hits? How will your friends fare now you have left them to their fate?"

Sheppard nearly hit him, could only restrain himself by digging his nails into the palm of his hand, arms shaking. "They'll be fine. Cause I'm going to get them out. I'm going to find them."

"Cannot find them if you don't know where they are," Piotrowski toyed, greatly enjoying this part. Sheppard could see it on the smug face he desperately wanted to hit. But he wasn't going to let the Pole win.

"You know where they are," Sheppard reminded him with a sharp nod. "Tell me."

"Why would I do that?" Piotrowski demanded with a hard curl of the lips. "When I greatly enjoy these moments."

"Where did your boss hide them?" Sheppard asked, refusing to be baited himself. He refused to.

"Have you forgotten so quickly, Sheppard?" the Pole asked, all innocence. "Down in that dark room, where your screams bounce of the walls." The prisoner's voice was softening for effect now too, but Sheppard was all too aware that Gibbs could hear everything. He refused to think about it.

"Where are they?" he asked as levelly as he could. Still Piotrowski ignored him, his grin deepening until it cast shadows on his face.

"I remember that one day, when the boss put your own gun at your leg… you went white as he slowly -." _The bald guy grinned deeper and deeper, and John gritted his teeth, waiting, waiting, as the trigger depressed and he screamed -._ "Wait, you do remember? Of course, how could you -?"

"Where are my people, Borys?" Sheppard demanded, shoving the sudden nausea away. Piotrowski shook his head.

"Screaming in your head, Sheppard. Do you remember the day they brought down the one you called McKay? I would be surprised if you did, we'd already worked on you all morning. Nothing like a bit of torture for breakfast."

Sheppard remained still, nails still biting into his hands. He remembered. He had been gasping for air, bleeding, sweating, hurting. He had heard Rodney's voice first.

"Yes, the man squealed before we even laid a finger on him," Piotrowski whispered. "You and he both knew what was going to happen. You had been waiting for it. And it was still the first time you gave away information."

"Just his name," Sheppard reminded him, letting himself actually remember what had happened. McKay had seen him, shouted to him before going quiet, realising…

"And your own, _Sheppard_," Piotrowski answered, that sneer curling his words. "And then when we started… we thought we had you. But even with McKay's eyes begging you to tell all, to just stop the pain… you didn't talk. Keeping your mouth shut was more important than the life of your friend."

Sheppard snapped upright, backing away from Piotrowski, mentally if not physically. The bastard had almost had him. John had almost snapped. But Piotrowski knew jack shit about what had happened that day. McKay hadn't been begging him to answer. McKay had been telling him it was okay. And it had hurt like hell.

Piotrowski thought he had it all figured out. Sheppard knew better.

"Do you remember, Borys?" Sheppard demanded suddenly, his voice hard and cold. Behind him Gibbs let out a breath he had obviously been holding. John ignored it. "Do you remember the day me and my team, escaped."

That shut his mouth, snapped it closed as he glared up at his captive-turned-captor. "I remember."

"Of course you do," Sheppard told him sweetly, leaning down again, hands on either bed rail, just above the cuffs so he could lean over Piotrowski's face. "I found you, cowering in the store room."

"I was not -."

"I didn't even have any weapons on me," Sheppard said right over the top of him. "But I guess you didn't know that, or you'd have fought back. Maybe if you had, you wouldn't have wet yourself."

"I did not wet -."

Again, Sheppard just spoke right over his denials. "You promised to show me the way out. You promised to help." He glanced the man up and down. "Where's the snivelling little shit gone, hey? I know he's in there. And when you find him, when you want to tell me where my team is… give me a call."

And he reached up slowly to pat the man softly on the cheek. Just that, no more, but he guessed that yet again, there was something about him. He knew about it, whatever it was. Elizabeth had mentioned it after the Genii incursion their first year in Atlantis. Something bloodthirsty and it looked down on the prisoner just like it had in that storeroom.

Not sure it would actually work this time though, Sheppard stood up straight and walked calmly out of the infirmary, never once looking back, or to the sides, even as Gibbs fell into step beside him, a thoughtful, worried look on his face. And John had to wonder how much of that conversation was going to be mentioned to Woolsey, or O'Neill.

It was only outside, in the empty hallways of Atlantis, that Sheppard took his first deep breath, half-collapsing against the wall as he tried to calm the shakes that had suddenly taken over.

He managed a glance at Gibbs staring at him, a mixture of emotions on his face that John couldn't identify. He looked down at his shaking hands again. "You were probably right. That wasn't the best idea."

"Maybe," Gibbs answered softly, for some reason sounding like he thought he was wrong as well.

"He's not going to tell us where my team is," Sheppard told him softly, taking another deep breath.

"No, he isn't," Gibbs agreed. "But we'll find them."

"But how soon?" Sheppard demanded, standing up straight again, not quite over the shock of coming face to face with Piotrowski, of having all that shoved in his face and somehow being unprepared for it, but needing to ignore it. "We need to find them ASAP."

"We've always needed to find them ASAP," Gibbs reminded him dryly, checking his watch. "How far is Atlantis behind DC?"

Sheppard ignored the question. "Yeah, but they must know we have Piotrowski. And they must think we'd do anything to get him to talk. They'll move my team."

Gibbs nodded. Apparently he had thought about that too. "But we're working as hard and as fast as we can, Sheppard."

"I know." And he did know. "But I've got an idea that might speed things along."

Gibbs' eyes crinkled in annoyance. "I don't like the sound of this either," he decided with a sigh.

Sheppard shook his head. "We break into Szymański's mansion."

* * *

Just when McKay had all but given up hope that Teyla was ever going to wake up again, she surprised the absolute hell out of him by bolting upright.

He may or may not have given a small scream, alerting a dozing Ronon to the fact that something had changed. The Satedan ignored Rodney's manly squeal and scooted to the front of his cell. McKay quickly followed, just in time to see Teyla actually on her hands and knees, looking around the floor for something she had apparently misplaced.

"Teyla?" Ronon demanded, worried. He and McKay shared a look. "Teyla!"

She ignored them both, her movements becoming more and more frantic. And every so often, she would glance at the door, as if she were expecting someone to walk through it. Maybe someone would. Rodney almost wished they would. He was getting sick of waiting, of hoping, of sitting here and doing absolutely nothing.

"Teyla!" Ronon called again, and this time she actually half-glanced at him, shaking her head.

"I can't…" she muttered, stopping, still searching with her eyes, tears coming to them. "I can't…"

And apparently that was enough for Ronon to understand what she was on about, because he suddenly softened, sighing and looking down at the dirty floor of his cell.

"Teyla, he's not here."

And then Rodney understood who she was worried about. Torren. Again. No matter how many times they told her that her son was safe, she soon forgot and began looking for him all over again.

Though not for the past few hours as she had laboured on the border between sleep and unconscious. Or dead. But now, she looked up at her team, her eyes wide enough to drown in, her mouth dropping. "Where… where is… I do not feel so good."

She half-collapsed to a sitting position, still glancing every now and then towards the door, hands twitching as if they needed to hold something. But she was beginning to relax again, and according to Ronon, that was cause for concern.

He shifted onto his feet, glancing at the door himself as McKay watched them both and the door, wanting desperately to know what was about to happen.

"Teyla," Ronon called, licking his lips. "Why were you searching for Torren?"

She shook her head, eyes dropping closed again. "I need to protect him," she answered sleepily.

Ronon and McKay shared another worried look. Rodney did not like the sound of that.

"Protect him from what?" Ronon asked slowly.

Teyla opened her eyes again, but she didn't look at either team mate as she continued to slip back into comatose. No, she looked at the door.

But she didn't actually answer. "Teyla?" Rodney asked, taking a deep breath. "What do you need to protect Torren from?"

Her eyes never left the door. "The Wraith."

Rodney barely had time to gasp (or even scream again) as Teyla's words sunk in. Because even as they were sinking in, the door to the cells opened and true to Teyla's Wraith DNA, down walked three man-eating Wraith fresh from the Pegasus Galaxy.

And Rodney had to gulp as their gaze settled on him, and he knew what was coming. Dammit, he knew.

One of them pointed at him, and he rose to his feet, Ronon keeping perfect time.

"You want someone, take me."

McKay flinched, hating the echoes of Sheppard's words that first day they had been held captive in the warehouse by the docks, and he pushed forward to the front of his cell – though he didn't remember moving backwards when the Wraith had arrived – and he stared defiantly at the Wraith. He wasn't about to let another team member sacrifice himself.

"No. I'll go," he called, taking a deep breath. God, but he hated Wraith. "I'm ready."


	12. Chapter 12

**Author's Note:** So, all the pieces are on the board I guess... time to put all plans into motion! No update tomorrow night, I'm working til late, but have fun with this chapter!

* * *

**Chapter 12**

"The Wraith are what?" Sheppard demanded, sitting down on the bed.

Gibbs was pretty stunned by that himself. No sign of them for weeks, and suddenly now they turned up. What did they want?

He wondered why he hadn't asked yet. Or why no one had asked. Sheppard had been awake five hours now, and no one had asked him a damn thing concerning the Wraith he had been tracking down.

"Yeah," DiNozzo sighed, unaware of the questions suddenly racing through his boss's head. "They turned up at Szymański's, stayed for an hour, and left again."

"Any idea where they're going?" Lorne asked from his spot leaning against the wall, arms crossed. He had turned back up – calm and collected – just as Gibbs and Sheppard were preparing to beam out of Atlantis.

DiNozzo shook his head. Apart from Gibbs, he was the only NCIS agent in the room, surrounded by the four Atlantis personnel. Ziva was still watching Szymański with Walker, and McGee was in the adjacent room, typing quickly on his computer.

"No," Tony answered. "We didn't think following psychic aliens who feed on humans was a really good idea."

"They're not that kind of psychic," Sheppard told him, only just not rolling his eyes. He nodded slowly. "But it was probably a good call. This really isn't good," he sighed.

"We knew they would show up eventually," Gibbs interrupted, annoyed. "Why are you all so surprised?"

"It's not surprise, really," Dawson answered. "You're right, we did know they would turn up eventually. It's still bad. It is not good news."

"It's better to know where they are than not knowing where they are on our own planet," Gibbs pointed out.

"I'd rather know _what_ they're doing," Sheppard spoke up, stopping the argument before it could go any further. "Which brings us back to Szymański's house."

Everyone shifted, looking uncomfortable. "Really?" Lorne asked, obviously the only Atlantean comfortable enough to question his CO. "Is it really a good idea?"

"About as good as not knowing what the Wraith are up to," John pointed out. He shook his head and addressed everyone in the room. "We need to know what they're up to. All of them. Szymański, the bald guy, the Wraith, all of them. Piotrowski's not going to tell, so we're just going to have to find out ourselves."

"By breaking into the most heavily fortified mansion in the city?" DiNozzo demanded. Gibbs felt inclined to agree, but he was waiting to see how this turned out. If Sheppard and his men thought they could do this… well, they were probably the only ones on Earth capable of doing it.

"You're damn right, by breaking into the most heavily fortified mansion in the city," Sheppard told them, eyeing Tony. "Between all of us, we can do it. You guys have the tech, we have the brawn. McGee can hack into city plans and get the blueprints, we can find an access point, and a few of us can get in, find his info and find out where my team is."

"I only see three things wrong with that," Gibbs decided to point out. "One. What makes you think Szymański's blueprints are just going to be available on the internet? Two. What makes you think a man like Szymański will have an access point you can just use to get in? And three, why would he have the information you need in his house?"

Sheppard scowled at him. "Actually, the blueprints are online. McKay had found them the day they ambushed us and dragged us to the warehouse. The mansion used to be public offices, until Szymański bought them eleven years ago."

"And the other problems?" Gibbs demanded. If this was possible…

"There always a way in. The building was public space, and Poland's government used to be cautious. For good reason I guess." John shrugged. "There'll be an access point. It'll probably be guarded, but we're all trained enough to take out a couple of guards. And where else would he keep the information? What if he has a leak? He's paranoid, he's going to think about that. That information will be somewhere in that house. Probably on his personal computer."

Gibbs stared at him for a moment, sizing the colonel up. "Are you sure about this?" he asked after a moment. "I mean, really sure. I don't want to put my team at risk if you're just testing your balls again."

Sheppard glared at him instantly, standing upright. "I'm sure about this. I wouldn't do that to your team, Gibbs, and you damn well know it!"

Gibbs conceded with a nod, aware he had just pissed the colonel off. "Okay then. I'm assuming you've gotten the okay from General O'Neill?"

For some reason Sheppard's scowl deepened. "He said if you're happy with the plan, then it can go ahead."

That shouldn't have surprised Gibbs, but it did. The general was putting that much trust in him? Only two days ago O'Neill had all but hated his guts, hating to use civilians for something like finding a team MIA. And now he was in charge of the man in charge of Atlantis' military? What was O'Neill worried about?

Gibbs just nodded, not about to antagonise the already angry colonel. "Okay then. If this is going to work, I need McGee and Ziva here."

Sheppard nodded, turning to his men. "Trohman, go get Officer David." The man nodded, leaving immediately, just grabbing a coat before he was out of the door. Outside, the rain hadn't let up; if anything, it was just getting heavier.

A second later McGee came in through the joining door, looking around, his computer under his arm. He looked suspicious, but he just moved to the empty desk and opened his computer without saying a word.

Gibbs recognised the signs. "What have you got, McGee?"

The probie shook his head. "I found the bald guy."

The computer screen lit up, and a picture of the man, fresh from Sheppard's camera, popped up, of the bald Pole.

"His name's Kolek Olczak," McGee told them. "And he's a ghost."

Sheppard shared a look with Lorne, neither liking the sound of that. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," McGee began. "He was being investigated two years ago as the ringleader for the gang he actually is the ringleader of. And by the looks of the files Abby emailed me, they had him. They had him hard, I mean, they had witnesses, and DNA, and everything except him holding the kitchen sink. The Polish police had the evidence to bust the whole organization wide open."

"But obviously they couldn't," Lorne interrupted. "So why not?"

"Because Olczak faked his death. Really, really well. His body was found after an explosion in a warehouse downtown. DNA confirmed it as Olczak, another person was caught during a crime, and they confessed eventually to leading the organization Olczak led, except much smaller than anything the police had thought. The organization was purged, sixteen members went to prison, and the case was closed."

"So Olczak faked his own death, and sacrificed sixteen members of his gang just so he could keep on running the organization?" Sheppard demanded. He could believe it. The man had been cold beyond belief.

McGee nodded. "Looks that way now. The gang changed its name, but Olczak was still in charge. And they're still around now to be helping the Wraith."

"Not for long," Sheppard promised vehemently. "We're going to find them."

Gibbs nodded, determined as well. "Okay then, colonel. What's the plan? Who are you taking? And how long until you know how you're getting in?"

Sheppard managed to grin at him. "Details, my dear agent. Details."

Gibbs didn't like the sound of that.

* * *

By the time night had fallen, they were ready. They were more than ready. They had been ready for two hours. But Sheppard had insisted on the cover of darkness, and Ziva knew Gibbs hadn't been about to argue. Not about that, in any case.

It hadn't taken McGee long to hack into the network and find the blueprints of Symanski's house. It was useless, of course, for inside: the man had no doubt changed it, moved things around, knocked down a few walls to turn once-offices into a luxurious mansion.

But the underground entrance from a nearby sewer system, the one that led into what had been an underground cellar, that was still around. Or at least, when Dawson had gone off to find out, he had reported back that the entrance was still there.

So that was to be their incursion point. They being Dawson and Trohman. Ziva, to represent NCIS inside the house. And, of course, Sheppard: the colonel was not about to sit something like this out.

They wouldn't be alone, not by a long shot. Gibbs was sitting with Walker in their usual stakeout position, watching the front of the house. He would warn of any approaching vehicles that were likely to be carrying Szymański's reinforcements.

On the other side of the mansion, Lorne and McGee would be sitting on the roof of the building DiNozzo had picked out before. Lorne would be watching for activity as well, while McGee would be talking them through any technical difficulties they encountered.

DiNozzo was parked in yet another building around the mansion, this time in an empty apartment he and Ziva were 'interested in buying, seeing as they liked Gdańsk so much, such a nice place'. He had been obviously surprised – welcomely so – to find out that he wasn't going to spend the night out in the cold like the other four watchers were.

But Ziva didn't need to think about that now. Scanning the rest of the incursion team, she focused on the mission at hand, and the mission at hand alone. They were all dressed in all black, each of them complete with Kevlar, a hand gun and combat knife. McGee had asked why none of them were carrying suppressors, and Sheppard had looked at him with a flat-eyed stare.

"If we're up to using our guns, they already know we're there."

It made sense, Ziva guessed. True, she hadn't done this in a while, and Sheppard and his men were supposedly pros at this kind of incursion, but she knew she could hold her own. Mossad training wasn't something that died easily or quickly. And she knew that for this kind of mission, if they were found, then they were dead.

It made her heart beat all the faster, feeling a kind of adrenaline rush she hadn't felt in years. It made her feel more alive than any time she could think of since leaving Mossad.

She hadn't missed it though.

The four of them were waiting by the open sewer entrance, the pipe of which would lead them to the point of incursion into Szymański's basement. Sheppard and his men were giving their weapons one last check, before pocketing them in thigh holsters. They looked calm, collected. Focused. She trusted that, took confidence from that.

Sheppard checked his watch after slightly shifting the night-vision goggles on top of his head. Then he tapped his ear, or rather, the radio in his ear.

"We're in place, McGee," he called softly. Whispering tended to attract more attention than talking softly, tended to carry further.

"Copy that," came McGee's slightly nervous reply. "I'm just accessing the power grid now. You should have cover in three… two… one."

The world suddenly went dark, and Ziva slid her own night-vision goggles down onto her eyes. The world turned green, but she could see clearly. Dawson and Trohman were copying her, Sheppard only a second slower. She turned her head and looked out over the city. The completely dark city. McGee had pulled the plug on a quarter of Gdańsk.

"What's the story, McGee?" Sheppard asked as he disappeared into the tunnel. Ziva followed hot on his heels: she had already been told, in no uncertain terms, that in this mission, she could consider herself Atlantis personnel. Which meant she obeyed Sheppard's orders at all times. And she stayed squarely in the middle of their line. Sheppard had the front, Dawson had their six, and she could stay behind Sheppard or Trohman, her choice.

Fair enough, but it rankled slightly.

"Power's out," McGee responded after a moment. "I've cut the power in three places, and they won't find them all for hours yet. It'll take even longer to fix." He sounded guilty about it, but as far as Sheppard had been concerned – and honestly, Gibbs as well – the complete darkness was necessary.

"Looks like Szymański has a generator of some kind," Gibbs suddenly interrupted. "There're lights on."

Sheppard glanced back at his team. Behind Ziva, Dawson shrugged. "Wasn't unexpected, sir."

"You're right," Sheppard muttered. "McK- … McGee, can they run cameras on a generator?"

There was a pause. "Doubt it. But I can always get into their system for you? Create a loop?"

He had offered it before. Sheppard just shook his head this time. "Negative, McGee. There's nothing to say the bad guys can't watch Speed either."

He paused as he reached a corner, and then ducked low, looking around. Ziva came to a halt behind him, easing her knife in her belt. According to the blueprints, the entrance was just around this corner.

Sheppard ducked back around, and lowered his voice considerably. Ziva had to lean in close to hear. "Two men, night-vision goggles as well. They don't look worried."

"So what's the plan?" Trohman asked. For this stage, Sheppard had decided to improvise, knowing that for something with so many unknown factors, making a plan was just going to put you off your game.

"Use their tech against them," Sheppard explained. "Flash-bangs. Take them out. The door is closed, and it looks heavy. They won't hear anything from inside."

He was moving as he spoke, but Ziva needed some clarification. "When you say take them out…"

Sheppard glanced at her, and then quickly at Trohman and Dawson over her head. "We're not here to make friends. They're going to help the Wraith destroy Earth. Do you mind getting your hands dirty, Officer David?"

She didn't pause, though she wished she could. But she also knew she needed to be honest. "No, Colonel Sheppard. I don't." If she could kill her brother for justice and the safety of Mossad, she could kill two sentries for freedom and the safety of the world.

Sheppard rolled the flash-bang around the corner, and they all closed their eyes against the flash. The two guards cried out, and Sheppard took it as a cue to move, Dawson moving just as quick, the both of them sliding their knives from their sheaths.

Ziva moved forward with Trohman, letting the focus and calm turn her cold and icy. She barely even looked at the two bodies, still gushing blood from the open wounds on their throats. She noticed Sheppard did though, even as Dawson used a set of keys to open the heavy steel door. Maybe he wasn't as unaffected as he pretended to be. Maybe after everything that had happened to him in the past week, in the past five years, he couldn't find that icy focus like she could.

It didn't matter, those thoughts were thoughts for later, because Dawson had found the right key, and the door was opening. Ziva removed her knife, the green distorting her vision only a little as she moved to the side of the door and peered around into darkness.

Or semi-darkness. Light enough, in any case, that the night-vision goggles would just hinder them. Sheppard was the first to slide his off, and again the first to move off and enter the mansion.

The door shut behind them, but only Ziva seemed to notice. She didn't look back, just glanced around the basement. Szymański had turned it into a wine cellar. She let the information slide past the focus and settle in the investigative part of her brain, following Sheppard to the stairs.

"Okay, we're in," Sheppard called out once he had his radio back on. "Any ideas where to get into Szymański's office."

He pushed open the door that materialised in front of him, and peered out into a dimly lit hall, his bloody knife ready.

But it was empty, and they could all focus on McGee's words instead. "No idea. The office you were watching is on the third level. East side of the building, twenty feet from the exterior wall. Does that help?"

Sheppard shook his head. "That'll do it, McGee. We'll contact you when we get there."

He quickly found a set of stairs, and again Ziva followed him up them, wondering at the lack of people. They didn't see or hear a soul, and it had her worried. Surely Szymański wasn't so lax in the security of his own home.

Another thought for later though. Now, she just had to stay calm, collected, focused and relaxed, enough that she could act on reflex and help out if they did come across something Sheppard and his knife couldn't handle.

They paused at the second floor landing, and Ziva cursed herself in three languages as she made out noise at one end of the hallway stretching to the north. She had been so focused on not hearing any voices that she hadn't heard the voices. Had it really been that long?

Sheppard waited, making sure the voices weren't about to come closer. Ziva tried to listen in, gain some intelligence. She shook her head. "They're only sorting out patrol shifts," she told them. "I think. Something like that. But the cameras aren't working, and Szymański wants them patrolling the corridors." She shook her head. "They're not happy about it."

Sheppard nodded, giving her a small smile as he took off up the next set of stairs, up to the third level.

It didn't take them long to find the office, or the computer, sitting, unused and on, the battery having lasted long enough for them to find it completely working.

Sheppard walked over to the lap top, grinning slightly. "Too easy," Trohman muttered as the colonel tapped his radio.

Sheppard just made a small noise, and Ziva was inclined to agree. The ease of this incursion was beginning to worry her.

But Trohman was on the door, and Dawson had planted himself a room just down the hall, to warn of anyone coming. The door was shut, the lights were off, and Sheppard wasn't fast enough of a typer to attract any attention by pounding on the keypad.

"Okay, McGee, we're in the office. What do I do?"

"Do you still have that USB?" he asked over the radio. Sheppard confirmed it. "Plug it into one of the USB ports on the side of the computer."

Sheppard rolled his eyes. "That much I knew," he answered dryly as he performed the actions. "I'm thinking more along the lines of not basic computer understanding."

"Actually, you'd be surprised -." He cut off as someone cleared their throats over the radio. Ziva recognised the sound as belonging to Gibbs and smiled as she went back to watching from the window, scanning the grounds and the surrounding buildings.

"Okay, where will I find these files?" Sheppard asked.

"Not sure," McGee admitted.

"What do you mean, not sure?" John snapped, head coming upright. "You're the computer whizkid."

"But I don't know what Szymański labelled his files as," the 'whizkid' answered with distinct eye-roll voice. "You might have to actually look, colonel."

"But that could take ages," Sheppard snapped. "We don't have time for that."

"It's that or take the whole computer," Gibbs interrupted. "Which you can't do. The point is not to let Szymański know you're there until you're long gone."

Ziva thought back to the two men left lying dead on the ground in the sewers. She wasn't willing to bet on complete anonymity while they were here.

Apparently Sheppard wasn't either, but he knew taking the whole computer wasn't an option either. He pulled the chair out and sat down heavily, taking the mouse and beginning to search.

After a moment he snorted. "I found out what Szymański's security is," he muttered, much to McGee's apparent consternation.

"What?" the probie demanded. "Can't you get into them? Can't you read them?"

"That's just it," Sheppard told him. "The files and documents are all in English. But all his men speak English. That's weird. And convenient."

"We can discuss weirdness later," Gibbs interrupted again. "For now, you need to move your asses."

"Do you see something?" Sheppard demanded, getting back to the computer, only the slightest worry entering his voice.

"Just a feeling," Gibbs muttered back. "Just hurry, would you?"

"A feeling like, okay, I didn't tell you I'm psychic?" Sheppard asked as he squinted at the machine. "Or feeling as in, I shouldn't have eaten that burrito for… Oh, shit."

It sounded like all colour had left his face, and Ziva whipped her head around, not liking it.

"That feeling," Gibbs muttered. "What is it?"

But Sheppard was shaking his head, fumbling slightly as he stood up, forcing his hands to wait for the copy to be completed. He seemed edgy all of a sudden, nervous, anxious.

"What is it?" she demanded, grabbing at Sheppard's arm. He turned to look at her, and she realised all the colour actually had left his face. He shook his head at her.

"We need to get out of here as soon as we can. I just found out what the Wraith are planning. And it's not -." The computer beeped, interrupting him, and Sheppard bent over to continue typing on the computer.

But no sooner had he started tapping away that a sudden wailing filled the room. "Alarms," Ziva breathed, even as a lock suddenly slid into place in the door, locking them in, and the lights came on full force, blinding them all for a second.

And as the spots cleared from her vision, Ziva turned to stare at Sheppard with some horror, and she knew they were both thinking the same thing.

They were screwed.


	13. Chapter 13

**Author's Note:** Okey dokey everyone, few things before you get onto the chapter!

One, thanks to everyone who's reviewing, just, wow, thank you!

Two... I won't be posting tomorrow night... mostly because I am going to have my photo taken with Joe Flanigan tomorrow, and I will be a pile of drool for the rest of the day.

Oh, did I mention I was going to a sci-fi convention... and I'm gunna meet Joe Flanigan... Jason Momoa... Paul McGillion... and some Twilight people... who's got some rotten eggs I can throw at the latter?

Just kidding - about the eggs, anyways.

Um, see you Sunday I guess... if I've recovered from the shock of actually MEETING Joe Flanigan!

And thanks again!

* * *

**Chapter 13**

"No!" Sheppard shouted, turning back to the computer. "I haven't found them yet!"

He had to find them. He couldn't leave them behind, refused to. Not again. Not now that he knew exactly what the Wraith were planning. Because once the Wraith finished setting it up, and acted it out, his team was dead.

But the alarms were wailing, and the lights were flashing, and Dawson was screaming in his ear that there were men running up and down the corridor waving their Glauberyts around.

"I just need five minutes!" Sheppard shouted into his radio, needing to shut the captain up.

"You don't have five minutes!" Gibbs snapped over the line. "Get out of there now, Sheppard. Now!"

Feeling like screaming, Sheppard pounded a fist on the desk instead. "Shut the hell up, Gibbs! I'm finding my team, and there's jack shit you can do about it!"

Anger pounding in his chest, Sheppard ripped his radio out of his ear and slammed it on the desk as well, shutting the agent out of his head. The man didn't understand, couldn't understand. He didn't know the Wraith. He didn't know Olczak.

And apparently neither did Ziva. Even as Sheppard thumped his radio down on the desk, she was storming forward, standing next to him, not touching him, as he continued to search Szymański's documents.

"Colonel Sheppard!" she called strongly. He could hear someone – Gibbs no doubt – shouting in her ear, but she managed to ignore her boss. "Colonel. John!"

The use of his first name broke through, and he turned to glare at her. "I'm not leaving until I know where they are!" he told her stubbornly.

"If we don't leave now, we're not going to find them at all!" she reminded him. Trohman turned to watch the door, ignoring the two of them, pulling his gun. Obviously the guards knew they were there.

"If I don't find them soon, they'll be dead," Sheppard told her, but his voice was softening. Something about her eyes, staring at him, willing him to see the truth. Willing him to see past the thoughts, the visions, the horror passing through his mind. "Damn it!"

He shouted it, punching the desk again, pulling the USB from the computer and pocketing it. "Let's get out of here."

He raced over to the door, while Trohman tried to open it. "It's locked," the lieutenant explained, letting go. "Locked as soon as the alarms went off."

The alarms were still going off, wailing annoyingly. Sheppard studied the lock, and then turned to Ziva, feeling stupid for having destroyed his radio now. He had let anger get the better of him when he should have been calm and focused. Damn it!

But he was becoming calm and focused now. Sort of. Enough to know there were only two ways they were getting out of this room. "What does McGee say about this lock?"

She relayed the question, and then grimaced as the answer came back. "He says he can't see the lock. More or less."

More, no doubt. Well, that scratched option one. Sheppard pulled his gun out and aimed it at the centre of the door, knowing the locking mechanism was there.

Ziva and Trohman barely had the chance to step back and block flying wood shrapnel as Sheppard blew a hole in the door. Sheppard kicked the door open, and moved through, sidearm up, scanning the corridor for any opposition.

He only found Dawson, waiting for them, the alarms still blaring, the lights still far too bright. Sheppard nodded at the captain. "Move, back to the basement," he ordered. Dawson fell into their six, sidearm out as well. And they moved to the stairwell.

Sheppard reached it first, kicking the door open, preparing to move through it – and spinning back around to the cover of the door frame as bullets peppered the spot he had been standing only a moment before.

"Shit," John snapped, cursing. He looked across as Trohman slid in next to him, Ziva and Dawson on the other side of the door. "Seven men, Glauberyts, waiting on the second floor."

"We've got the height advantage," Dawson reminded him. "And that's the only way down. We can't jump from the third story. There's no way out."

He was right, and Sheppard knew it. He had studied the outside of Szymański's mansion for hours upon hours, looking for a way in, long before NCIS had found him. And there was no way down from the third story.

"But there is from the roof," Sheppard reminded them forcing back to the plan. Going in, they had planned three exits. If all had gone well, they would exit via the basement and then the sewer tunnel. Failing that, they all knew Symanski had a nice garage. But they couldn't reach that either, seeing as it was down on the ground floor.

Their third exit strategy had been for use in the strictest emergency only. But Sheppard was thinking this was emergency. Atlantis needed the information on the USB he was carrying. At the moment, nothing else mattered. Not if they wanted to save the world. It pained him to think it, especially now he was clear-headed, but even the lives of his team mattered very little next to the plan the Wraith were concocting.

"The roof," Sheppard repeated, stretching his hearing, trying to see if anyone was coming down the stairs from above. He couldn't hear anything. "The Daedalus can beam us out."

"Why can't they just beam us out now?" Ziva demanded, even as she eyed the stairs they were planning to move up.

"The mansion is shielded somehow," Dawson muttered to her as Sheppard and Trohman prepared to race across the open doorway. "We think the Wraith are jamming it like they do their ships. It was why we couldn't just beam in."

Sheppard tuned them out, clearing his mind and trying to remember the exact position of every man down at the second floor. Taking a deep breath, he kept the memory in his mind before moving out, shooting the moment he had a clear line of sight.

He only hit two – they had moved – and then he was across, Trohman hot on his heels having taken care of another Pole at the bottom of the stairs. "Lieutenant, you have our six," Sheppard called as he began to lead the way up the stairs.

He moved quickly, knowing the guards were going to figure out where they were heading pretty fast and try to follow. But he kept his gun up, ignoring the pressure on his ribs, and his eyes on the corners. Behind him, Ziva kept her sidearm trained over Sheppard's shoulder, eyeing off the corners the colonel might have missed.

Szymański's mansion was five stories high. The made it easily to the fourth floor, and Sheppard turned to start up to the top story before a bullet smashed into the wall at about the height of his head.

He ducked back down and cursed. They really needed to go that way. He had counted five men waiting for them though, all in hidden, strategic places. This wasn't going to be easy.

He motioned to the team what the situation was, pausing for a minute before realising the guards on the second floor were beginning their own trek up. Sheppard tried not to curse again. This was not going to plan.

"We need to take them out," Ziva reminded him as he paused, knowing the score as well. "Where are they?"

He told the three of them and they all nodded. "I've got the two on the left," Sheppard told them quietly. "Ziva, take the middle. Trohman, you've got the two on the far right. Dawson, watch our asses. Ready?"

He didn't wait for an answer, just leapt out of hiding like an idiot, letting three shots lose as he aimed for the men hiding in wait. Thankfully though the guards were impatient and had been about to move down to the fourth floor, exposing themselves.

A dozen shots rang out as Dawson, Trohman and Ziva followed the colonel's lead, and then the Poles opened fire as well.

A dozen shots, and six sounds of bullets hitting soft bodies were audible even above those. The five guards went down, and beside Sheppard, Trohman grunted, stumbling backwards into the wall, hand at his stomach, a look of shock on his face.

"Shit!" Sheppard swore again, fumbling to holster his sidearm and grabbing the hit lieutenant, not letting him slide to the ground. "Not yet, marine," John grunted out. "The way ahead is clear. On your feet!"

The command in Sheppard's voice worked wonders, and with another loud grunt, Trohman got to his feet. John ignored the worried looks on the faces of the other two, just nodding at the stairs. "Dawson, you've got the lead, Ziva, you've got our six. Move!"

The guards from the second floor were catching up, but the intruders moved like they hadn't before, not caring so much if the way was clear. They were nearly there, nearly to the roof. Nearly to safety, and a position where Sheppard could hand over this damn USB and explain that if they didn't move quickly, the whole world was going to hell.

And then suddenly they were on the top floor, and Sheppard tried to recall the blueprints, handing Trohman over to Dawson as he searched the ceiling for the trapdoor. Once again he was thanking Szymański's paranoia. The roof of the mansion was flat, and wide enough to hold a helicopter, except Sheppard had wondered, in those hours studying this place, why there was no roof exit, no door to actually get to the very obvious chopper pad. And then he had seen the blueprints, noticed the exterior changes between the public offices and the mansion, and surmised there was a hidden exit.

He had been right, and halfway down the corridor he found the latch. "Ziva," he called, not able to reach the trap door on his own. "I'll give you a boost."

He hefted her up, and she grabbed onto the well-camouflaged handle. As she fell backwards the door fell, and a set of stairs, at not too bad of an angle, fell with her.

"I'll go first," he told them, trying to ignore the guards no doubt on the fourth floor by now. "Trohman's coming with me. Ziva, you're after him, and Dawson, you're last up." Hearing voices, he added, "Move!"

He grabbed the lieutenant from Dawson and, with a hidden strength, carried them both up the stairs, using only one hand to pull and his legs to push, cringing at the expectation of a very sore, still-healing thigh in the morning.

He moved quickly, coming up against a second hidden door in his haste. Taking a deep breath, hoping no one was about to shoot his head off, he shot the lock off and pushed on up.

He exited out into the rain first, moving out of a small column he had thought was a chimney when he had been watching the house, sweeping his gun around, nerves tense enough to shoot at any shadow that even thought about moving. Thankfully nothing did, and he leaned over to help Trohman finish coming out of the hole in the roof.

Sheppard was already soaked by this stage, hefting the lieutenant to his feet as he heard gunshots below. He swore, and was about to move to help out Ziva and Dawson when a spray of bullets hit the roof where he had been standing not a second before.

He ducked down behind the chimney-esque doorway, thinking maybe tonight was a good time to buy that lottery ticket, and thankful that karma had decided he had had enough bullet holes for time being. Hoping luck stayed on his side, he got up to one knee, covering Trohman as the marine struggled to stay conscious, and swept his gun back up, searching the darkness for his attacker.

But he couldn't see a thing, and he didn't think putting his night-vision goggles back on was a good idea – too many people knew about the inherent weaknesses of the goggles and exposure to bursts of light.

But he continued to search the darkness and the pouring rain as shouts came from below. But there was nothing he could see, though he could all but feel a sniper lining the sights up on his back or head…

Swearing again, Sheppard ducked down, grabbing the radio from Trohman's ear and shoving it ruthlessly into his own.

"Ziva, Dawson!" he shouted. Sudden movement caught his eye, from the very corner of the rooftop, and Sheppard reacted, pressing the trigger on his borrowed Beretta three times. Someone out there grunted and fell, and Sheppard swept his gaze around again. "Ziva, Dawson!"

"Coming!" a voice called back over the radio. Dawson, but a very harried Dawson. "Just get out of here, sir!"

Not a chance in hell he was doing that again. Holding his breath, he stood up and prepared to jump down back through the trap door when the gunshots and shouts from the top floor stopped. Sheppard swore his heart stopped with it.

"Dawson, you better answer me!"

A head suddenly appeared in Sheppard's vision, giving him a mini heart attack, but within a second he had recognised Dawson's grinning face.

"Sir, you do care."

Sheppard scooted backwards, leaving room for the two of them to move out onto the roof as he got to his feet, relieved. He tapped the radio, opening up a channel to the battleship in orbit above them.

But before he could get the words out, bullets again sprayed the rooftop and Dawson grunted as he was hit coming out of the trap door.

Sheppard swore again, racing forward, trying to grab the captain's arms before he fell back into the mansion. He just managed to grab the other man's wrists, stopping the fall, but sliding forward until he was all but hanging over the edge himself, his ribs pressed hard against the top of the column.

"Ziva!" Sheppard shouted, and the Mossad officer's worried face appeared at the bottom. "Some help would be good."

She began climbing the stairs as well, even as the dull sounds of a 9mm began firing. Sheppard looked around to find the injured Trohman defending their position against two men coming at them from the other side of the roof. Where the hell were they coming from?

That question was swept aside as well as shouts came from within the mansion, and Ziva looked down, her face paling.

"We've got company," she told Sheppard, before sliding back down the steps and pulling out her gun, firing on someone or someones John couldn't see.

"Ziva!" he shouted, not liking the position he was in right now. The position being wedged over the top of a chimney, holding onto an increasingly heavy captain.

"Just let go, sir!" Dawson shouted, as the firing of the 9mm paused so Trohman could reload. The opposition chose that moment to open fire, and Sheppard squeezed his body as small as it would go, ignoring his ribs protesting against the treatment.

"Not a chance, captain," Sheppard grunted out, as beside him, Trohman opened fire again. "No one gets left behind. I'll pull you out, and then I'll go back for Ziva. Ready?"

"You're not strong enough," Dawson told him bluntly. "Not at the moment!"

"We'll see," Sheppard promised, licking his lips, knowing he was about to pop some of Keller's stitches. "Ready! Pull!"

And he pulled, grunting with each new strain on his arms and stomach, ignoring the aches and pains and the tearing sensation when his stitches did come apart, expecting every second to get hit by the gunfire, but apparently Trohman was doing a good enough job of covering them, because he didn't. Inch by inch, the captain slid out of the column, and Sheppard began thinking that maybe this would work.

But someone else had other ideas, and in only a few seconds, everything changed. Sheppard had Dawson halfway out of the column when the rooftop suddenly went silent: Trohman had run out of ammo again, and apparently so had Szymański's men. And a second later one of them tackled Sheppard hard enough to hit the ground.

Dawson was jerked from his grip as he was launched sideways, hitting the rooftop hard enough to daze. He rolled over, wondering what the hell was happening, when a fist slammed into his head.

That cleared things up pretty quickly. Not his vision, but like the well-trained soldier he was, Sheppard reacted. Hoping he was aiming for the right arm – there seemed to be two coming at him – John blocked the next strike, and then struck out himself, the heel of his palm driving the Pole's nose up into his skull. Unconscious or dead, Sheppard wasn't sure, but the man fell forward immediately, blood surging from his nose.

Sheppard shoved the man off, looking around for where he had left the column. Stumbling to his feet, he walked over, looked down – and then twisted to the side as a gun aimed at his face and fired.

He felt the bullet fly past, nearly grazing the side of his head. But he had seen them, the dozen or so guards clambering to get up to the roof. And he knew going back for Ziva and Dawson was suicide. He would doom not only himself, but the entire world.

"Damn it!" he yelled, rolling away from the column as the first man escaped the mansion. Sheppard grabbed his gun and fired, hitting the man in the chest before turning to grab Trohman. The injured guard slumped forward, blocking the path. It wasn't much, but it would be enough.

"Daedalus," Sheppard yelled, suddenly realising his radio had been on the whole time, and that the Daedalus would have heard everything. He sighed and shook his head, suddenly feeling very tired. "Can you beam us straight to Atlantis?"

The white lights of the Asgard beaming technology surrounded the two of them, and the last look Sheppard had of the rooftop showed a growing number of stunned guards trying to reach the two of them before they disappeared into thin air.

* * *

Gibbs was pissed.

No, scratch that. He was beyond pissed. He was tired, and angry, and frustrated, and now he was sick with worry, because Sheppard had stuffed up, had gone on the damn mission when his head was all screwed up, and now one of his team was missing.

He stalked the halls of Atlantis, the bright light of mid-afternoon not doing anything to improve his mood. The Daedalus had picked him up ten minutes ago, explained what had happened. Obviously sensing his fury, they had beamed him down to some random corner of the city, apparently hoping the walk to find Sheppard would calm him down some.

If anything it did the opposite.

Getting used to the city's layout, it didn't take him long to reach the gate room, all but running onto the sprawling platform in front of the Stargate. The usual awe-inspired feeling he usually got upon seeing the colours and the elegant architecture was missing as he strode out onto the centre of the platform and looked up into Woolsey's office on the balcony overhead.

Sheppard was in there, speaking to O'Neill and Woolsey. The fury inside Gibbs exploded the moment he saw the colonel.

"Sheppard!" he shouted as loud as he could, and up above, all three men turned to look at him. Furious still, Gibbs didn't see Sheppard's face fall.

Shaking his head, the agent raced for the stairs, twisting every few steps to see what Sheppard was doing. It looked like the man was coming to meet him, his superiors a few steps behind him. Gibbs shook his head again, and spun around to reach the control centre.

Sheppard reached him first. "Gibbs, I am -."

The agent didn't let him get another word out. Losing his temper completely, the greying man let loose with the strongest swing he could muster. His fist hit Sheppard's face, hard enough to hurt his hand and spin the colonel down to one knee.

Almost immediately someone grabbed Gibbs, pulling him back, but the agent just ignored them, managing to pull on arm free as one of the technicians helped Sheppard to his feet.

This time Gibbs did spot the younger man's ginger movements, noticed the pale face, the dried blood on the shirt of his shoulder, and found he didn't care. He just pointed an accusing finger at him, the urge to hit him again instead nearly too strong to fight down.

"You said she'd be fine!" he cried, pointing hard for emphasis. "You said you'd take care of her!"

"I know," Sheppard told him quietly, rubbing his jaw, but not quite looking Gibbs in the eye. "And I screwed up."

The admission caught Gibbs by surprise. He had to be honest, he had never really pictured Sheppard as a man who said admitted he was wrong. Not because he was arrogant, but because he seemed like the kind of man who, by the time he had a chance to say he was sorry, he had already fixed it.

Actually hearing the admission stopped Gibbs more than the marine holding him ever could.

He calmed down almost instantly, but still shook his head. "You're going to find her," he said, more with a statement than a question.

Again, to his surprise, Sheppard didn't quite meet his eyes, turning to glance quickly at O'Neill before sighing. "I'll try," he told Gibbs, looking up. For the first time, the agent noticed the pain in the other man's eyes. "But… we've got bigger concerns."

"What?" Gibbs demanded, stepping forward, and ignoring the way everyone tensed. "What the hell is more important than the life of my agent? Of your team?"

Sheppard swallowed hard, but it was O'Neill who answered.

"How about the fate of the entire Milky Way Galaxy?" the general asked, and Gibbs had to look between them, scowling at each of them in search of a proper answer.

In the end Sheppard sighed and put his hands on his hips. "We found out what the Wraith are planning," he told the older man, his voice still quiet. He paused for effect, and then surged on, almost as if he wished waiting would stop the entire thing from happening. "They're going to use our satellites to get a message to the Pegasus Galaxy. And if it reaches Pegasus… every single Wraith ship there will come here to cull every single human in this galaxy."

* * *

I know, original huh? See you Sunday!


	14. Chapter 14

**Author's Note:** Okay, first things first...

The Convention was awesome! Not only did I _see_ Joe Flanigan, Jason Momoa (who is even sexier in real life, and has awesome hair now!), Paul McGillion (so nice, he was hugging all the girls who came to have photos with him, and apparently today he's wearing his kilt...), Christopher Heyerdall (so tall, and will forgive him for being in Twilight, guess they have to make a living somehow), Cameron Bright (was in an ep or two), Seth Green (not in SG, but cool nonetheless, and very, very small!) but I got to hug - that's right HUG! - Joe Flanigan! HUG! It was amazing, and not just the HUG, but they're all so nice, and I got a picture with Joe, and his, Jason's and Paul's autograph, and they're all really nice, and tall, though that's not hard, because I'm pretty short. But it was a lot of fun, and I have pictures, which I would love to put up, but have no idea how...

Wish I could have gone today, but there's a little thing called exams... SIGH... would have loved to see Paul McGillion in a kilt though!

Anyways, must to go to do revision, enjoy this chapter, and I'll see you all tomorrow night!

* * *

**Chapter 14**

McKay couldn't believe what was happening.

He had been sure he was going to his death. Or to be tortured, at least. He had been sure he was in for yet another round of questioning, of interrogation, though since their escape, no one had come down to see them, to speak to them, to do anything with them. But he had been sure that was about to change.

That had been three hours ago, or as close to three hours as he could guess. He didn't have a watch, and there were no clocks in this room. But it took him ten seconds to pace back and forth along his path, and he had lost count of laps somewhere around 2300, which was just under two hours, and he was sure that had been an hour ago, because it took him five minutes – give or take a few seconds – to go through every single possible scenario his mind could come up with, and he had done that at least fifteen times, which was actually over an hour…

He was doing it again. Not just pacing, but trying to distract himself, to calm himself down. Usually maths helped, but he wasn't sure anything would help, not today, because they had left him in this shoebox of a room three hours ago and had ignored him since, which was just plain rude.

Not only that, but they had left him in a room with the oddest assortment of computers he could see. Obviously they wanted something out of him – who didn't – and just maybe it had something to do with these computers. But he hadn't taken a close look at them, beyond finding out that they weren't connected to anything but each other, so he couldn't use them to escape, or to get a message to anyone, or to do anything. And he didn't want to get interested in the Wraith's plan, because he was never going to help them, no matter what they did to him.

So here he was pacing up and down, wondering what was going to happen to him, wondering if Teyla was still alive, wondering how long it would take Sheppard to find them, and not thinking that the colonel was probably dead, because that would be beyond –

The door slammed open, and McKay jumped, spinning around while he was in the air, and not really sure how he did it.

He found he didn't care, not as two Wraith and the really mean, bald-headed Pole walked in.

McKay scowled at them all, saving a particularly nasty glare for the man, who grinned back in amusement. Rodney didn't think there was anything really funny about any of this, and he would have said something if he weren't terrified about the two Wraith circling him, sniffing him, and if he hadn't just wondered to himself how long it had been since they had fed.

The Pole tore his thoughts away from anything as he began to speak. "Doctor Rodney McKay."

McKay swallowed, but didn't say a word. Not on the outside, at least. His insides really wanted to know how the bad guy knew his name.

The other man seemed to be all too aware of the shock Rodney was feeling though. His grin changed from amused to smug and amused. "Yes, we know all about you now," he said in his terrifyingly cold voice. "The moment the Wraith saw you, they recognised you. You are well known in the Pegasus Galaxy. All of you."

So the Wraith had opened their fat traps, had they? McKay really wanted to glare at them for that, but found he could barely stand to look at them. He really wanted to know what they wanted.

"That's nice and everything," McKay told them all, in a voice that was only a little higher than usual. The Pole smirked, but Rodney thought he was actually doing okay under the circumstances. Showed what the gangster knew. "But you left me in this damn box for three hours! Now, I'm hungry, sore, thirsty, tired, and you didn't even give me a seat! And I'm bordering on a nerv- hypoglycaemic reaction!"

"You should have talked this much a week ago," the man told him quietly as McKay paused in his rant. "It would have saved much unpleasantness."

Rodney could feel his teeth grinding and made them stop. "I'm not talking now," he snapped back. "I'm complaining, there's a difference, in that this is much more annoying!" He glanced at the computers, and then at the Wraith, before turning back to the Pole, a plan formulating in his mind. "I know you want my help with something, or I'd be a dried out corpse by now. But if you want my help, there's going to be a few conditions." Stalling, stalling was good, it gave Sheppard time to rescue them, and hopefully, just hopefully, he could stop Teyla from dying in the meantime. "Now, if I'm going to help you at all, I'm going to need food! Sugary food, like chocolate. And so do my team. And she needs medical attention. You need to stop her from dying."

"You are talking about Teyla Emmagen?" the Pole asked, that amused look back on his face. McKay's scowl deepened.

"Yes, Teyla. If she dies, I won't help you, and there'll be nothing you can do about it." He raised his head, trying to look like he was full of confidence, and determination. "Food, water, medical help. And then I'll take a look at your problem."

The man was silent, appearing to mull it over. Then he glanced at the Wraith, who made some kind of huffing noise that McKay had never been able to translate. Todd did it all the time though, and it never worked out well.

The Pole uncrossed his arms, spreading them wide. "There are quite a few demands in there," he pointed out. "A few things that I'm not sure we can… accommodate." His grin changed again, becoming something much darker, much eviler. Something matching the Wraith's nature. "How about you hear my demands?"

McKay heard it then, scuffling and sounds of dragging, and muffled shouts of a woman who's voice he couldn't quite pinpoint. He frowned, not liking where this was going.

The door slammed open again, and two more men came in, dragging a woman in black BDUs, all but kicking and screaming as she was dragged by her bound arms. Her face was hidden by a dark sack, but McKay could feel his stomach dropping already.

"We already know you will not talk for the lives of your teammates," the gangster told him, stepping aside so the two cronies could force the woman to her knees before McKay. "But what about someone who is not a part of your team? What about someone who is not necessarily ready to die to stop us? What about someone who is only here because she was attempting to find you and your team?"

And then, as one of the cronies yanked the sack off the woman's head, McKay's heart stopped with guilt and horror. Because he actually did know the woman.

"Ziva?"

It came out before he could help it, but his brain had stopped along with his heart, and he wasn't sure what else to say.

She had a black eye, and she was bleeding from her mouth, but she still managed to heave a sigh of relief. "You are alive."

"Last time I checked," McKay answered with a swallow. God, he hated these people, almost as much as he hated the Wraith. He turned to the baldie. "What do you need me to do?"

"No!" Ziva shouted, struggling to get to her feet again. "Do not do it!"

One of the Wraith made another huffing sound, more of a growl, but Ziva just glared at it, no matter that this was her first time seeing one up close, without make up on. "Bite me," she snapped. "Feed on me, I don't care. I will die to save the galaxy."

"No!" McKay shouted as one of the Wraith actually cocked an eyebrow – or a ridge at least – and raised its feeding hand. "I told you, I'd do it!"

"McKay!" Ziva snapped, still struggling. "Do not be a fool."

He really wished she would shut up while he tried to save her life. She was too much like Sheppard, self-sacrificing heroes who didn't think about what their stupidity did to those forced to watch. So he ignored her and turned to face the Wraith. "What do you need me to do?"

The Wraith grinned at him, and walked over to the computers. "I need you to make these connect to Earth's satellites," he told the scientist. "You are the smartest… human, yes?"

"Well, yes," McKay admitted, feeling a little overwhelmed. "But even all Earth's satellites can't get a message to Pegasus."

Maybe he shouldn't have pointed that out. Dammit. Well, too late now. Besides, by the look on the Wraith's face, he had already thought of that. Or someone had. McKay swallowed again.

"Not a message from one of your computers, no," the Wraith told him. "Not an electronic message. But we do not aim to send an electronic message."

It took McKay a few seconds to get it, but when he did, his jaw dropped, and for the second time that night, he swore his heart stopped. "You're going to use your psychic mojo?"

The Wraith just grinned at him. "You will do this, or we will feed on her, very slowly, and in front of you."

McKay nodded, swallowing again and trying not to look at a pissed off Ziva. The Wraith nodded with him.

"Good. You have six hours."

"Six…" McKay stammered. "That's not -."

The other Wraith snarled and took a threatening step towards Ziva, who, despite her earlier brave words, flinched away, much to the delight of everyone except Rodney.

"Fine!" he cried. "Jesus, six hours, okay, I'll do it." Stalling, he had to stall. "But I need space. I can't work with Wraith freaking breathing down my neck. Nor homicidal, evil gangsters!"

The bald man grinned at him and shrugged. "Fine. You get the box to yourself."

"Remember," the lead Wraith told him. "Six hours."

"Yeah, yeah, I got it," McKay muttered as Ziva was dragged from the room, closely followed by the Wraith and the bald Pole. He was surprised Ziva went as quietly as she did, but didn't have time to exactly mull it over. He sighed and turned to the computers.

"Okay, John. You've got six hours to find us, or we're screwed."

* * *

"Okay," DiNozzo said as he sat down in the conference room, looking at all the people sitting down around him. He felt like, for the first time since NCIS had been put on this damn case, they were actually all in one place.

Well, nearly all of them.

"What are the Wraith actually planning to do?"

No one answered for a moment. And then Sheppard sighed, leaning forward in his chair and looking at Tony.

"From what I could gather from Szymański's computer," he began. "The Wraith are planning to send a message through Earth's satellites, all of Earth's satellites, to the Pegasus Galaxy. No doubt containing Earth's position and instructions to get here."

"That bit I had guessed," DiNozzo told him dryly. "How are they going to do it?"

"We should have picked up on it sooner, really," Sheppard sighed. "But we were still gathering data, information about the victims, and they grabbed us before we had time to put it together."

"We've had people going over it as well," Woolsey interrupted. "And they didn't figure it out. It's not something you can blame yourself for, colonel."

Sheppard scowled at him and ignored the last sentence. "In any case, it goes like this. The Wraith are capable of communicating, psychically, over long distances," he told NCIS, considering everyone else knew that. "The larger the group, the longer the distance they can communicate."

"But there can't be enough Wraith to send a message to the Pegasus Galaxy that way," DiNozzo pointed out, hoping he was right. "I mean, there'd be a lot more bodies."

"No, they can't," Dr Zelenka put in. "I don't think a Wraith group of any size could."

"So, what's the problem?" Tony demanded, wondering why Gibbs wasn't asking any of these questions. "Why are we here, talking about this, and not going to find Ziva?"

"Because the Wraith have found a way to boost their signal," Sheppard snapped, obviously not glancing at Gibbs. "I don't know how, not specifically. But one of their victims worked for a computer company. And another one worked for a company researching the brain. Researching psychic ability."

That got a scoff from a few people, but the colonel shook his head. "It's the company in Germany. The one we thought was a communications company. Well, turns out the communications they research is psychic communication."

"So the Wraith are going to use their research to boost their signal?" McGee asked, speaking for the first time. He looked confused. "I mean, I've heard of the company. Their mostly seen as a sham. I think if they'd found a way to… boost a psychic signal, someone would have heard about it."

"But that's not what they're doing," Zelenka explained, understanding it better than the colonel. "The company has a way of recording brain waves, and with the Wraith's help, it looks like they have found a way to turn the Wraith psychic brain waves into a recordable message that actually makes sense, if you… play it, and is much easier to send over long distances to, say, a Wraith's computer system."

"So… they're going to record a psychic message, plug it into a computer and send it to the Pegasus Galaxy via satellite?" DiNozzo needed to clarify. Sheppard shrugged in affirmation.

"No," McGee denied, shaking his head. "No way our satellites are powerful enough for that."

"They are if the Wraith use their crashed darts to construct a power source. Or they tap into the power grid of say… Poland, and use that power to send the message," Sheppard told them. "Besides, we know it is possible to get enough power to send a message to Pegasus, because a Wraith has done it before."

Before NCIS's jaws could drop too far, O'Neill scowled. "Not in this reality," he told them, shooting Sheppard a scowl. "In another reality."

"It's how the Wraith came to Earth in the first place," Sheppard told them. "The message skipped realities, the Wraith has a super-Hive that picked up the message, and here we are."

There was a heavy pause, and then Gibbs leaned forward. To DiNozzo, it was obvious that he was going to hate himself for what he was about to ask this. "So it really is possible for them to get a message back to Pegasus?"

"Yes," Sheppard told him, looking him straight in the eye. "It is." He paused, and looked around at everyone. "I mean, this is the Wraith we're talking about. And they have McKay, who is one of the smartest men on the planet."

"But he wouldn't help them," McGee pointed out, sending a searching glance to others in the room. "Would he?"

"If it was just him and our team," Sheppard began heavily. "Probably not, no. Unless he was stalling for time. On the other hand, they have Ziva now."

"But she wouldn't want him to help them just to save her," DiNozzo pointed out angrily, not liking the sound of that sentence.

"And I know that," Sheppard snapped. "But if I know the Wraith, then they'll use Ziva against McKay. And if I know McKay, he'll say yes right up to the last minute just to stop them from feeding on her for as long as he can. And who knows what the Wraith can do from that last minute on."

Gibbs nodded, looking down at his hands. "Then we need to stop them before that last minute."

DiNozzo felt his throat close a little, and he leaned back, feeling something heavy on his shoulders. He knew what this meant. It meant that if she wasn't where the Wraith were about to execute their plan, Gibbs was all but sacrificing Ziva. And Sheppard his team. And they had to, unless they wanted to sacrifice the entire galaxy.

"So, where are they doing this?" he asked, ignoring the shake in his head. "Where do we have to go to stop them?"

"That's the problem," Sheppard told him. "The data we retrieved didn't say. Not specifically."

"Well," Gibbs said with a nod. "Let's see what Abby and Ducky have to say about that."

* * *

"What have you got, Ducky?"

The doctor looked up as Gibbs entered the room and then raised his eyebrows at the accompanying crowd. "My, my Jethro. You seem to have attracted a few fans."

Gibbs looked back at Sheppard, DiNozzo, McGee and General O'Neill. The first three he understood. He had no clue why the general was following them, not believing the claim he had an interest in the 'medical stuff'. Gibbs turned back to Ducky and shrugged.

"Must be my charm," he answered, to a snort from both Air Force personnel. He didn't look back again, but instead repeated, "What have you got?"

"I finished the autopsies on the men about half an hour ago," Ducky began, getting down to business. He walked over to one of the tables moved temporarily into the room, and threw back the cloth covering the man.

"His name was Gerik Tarka. He died from a bullet through the right ventricle of his heart, a nasty shot, though a second bullet nicked his left, and almost certainly would have killed him in any case."

"He was the guy I used a shield," Sheppard interrupted distractedly. "In the warehouse, when you found me, Gibbs." He shook his head and focused his eyes back on the corpse.

"Well," Ducky said, glancing back at the body as well. "That would explain it. I've sent bloods and his clothes up to Abby. As for Mr Tarka… he was a very healthy individual. Very strong."

Gibbs nodded as Sheppard walked forward to join them, studying the corpse now. Gibbs ignored him. "Anything about him that might point to where he spent a lot of his time?"

"Not in particular," Ducky admitted, growing quiet. Obviously he had heard about Ziva's capture. "He has the scars you would expect of a gang member. Calluses from holding guns. Although there was one strange callus," he told them, moving to the right hand and picking it up, showing them all the web between his thumb and first finger. "Not exactly a place one would expect a callus."

Sheppard looked up from the rest of the body to stare at it. "Could it be from a golf club?" he asked, frowning.

"Hmm, not likely. And I can't imagine this chap ever enjoying a game of golf." He looked up at Sheppard with a frown. "Then again, I can't imagine you enjoying golf."

Sheppard grinned at him. "We can't imagine everything, doc," he answered back, going back to his study of the Pole's chest.

Gibbs rolled his eyes. "Any ideas what did cause it, Duck?" he asked. Anything that had the examiner curious had him curious.

"What about a fishing rod?" O'Neill asked, stepping forward, shrugging. There was a moment of silence.

"Yes, I suppose that could be it. And if he lives in Gdańsk, he might very well enjoy a spot of fishing."

"If he lives in Gdańsk," Gibbs repeated, before finally snapping and turning on Sheppard. "What the hell are you looking for?"

The colonel looked up, to make sure the agent was talking to him, and then looked around. "A feeding mark."

"Feeding mark?" Ducky demanded, horror entering his voice. "Why would the Wraith feed on their loyal followers?"

"To get them addicted to it, so they stay as loyal as is possible," Sheppard told him, stepping back. "Usually they feed and kill, but sometimes they'll give you your life back. Not sure how it works, but if it happens enough, you become addicted to the Wraith feeding on you, or more specifically, to the Wraith enzyme that keeps you from dying of shock. I was just wondering if these guys had complete control over their actions. And looks like they did. Or this one did."

"I didn't find any marks on any of them," Ducky told him, a touch breathless. "But perhaps Abby could determine it better for you. She should have processed the bloods I sent up to her by now."

"Then that's our next stop," Gibbs told his entourage, turning and heading for the door.

"Can I come?" Ducky asked, before pausing for a second. "Perhaps… perhaps if I hear her thoughts, we can come to a better conclusion about where… where…"

Gibbs nodded, letting Ducky save himself from saying it. But he didn't say a word, didn't need to. He just turned and led the way to Abby's temporary lab.


	15. Chapter 15

**Author's Note:** Once again would like to thank everyone who's reviewing, you're all great, and you all deserve cookies!

* * *

**Chapter 15**

"You're late."

Gibbs paused as Abby turned on him, hating that frustration in her voice. Usually when she claimed he was late, she was joking around with him. This time he knew she was struggling not to get pissed off with everyone she laid eyes on.

"Couldn't help it," he explained shortly, moving forward again so everyone else could enter the suddenly crowded lab, no doubt just to hear him ask questions again. They may have lost O'Neill somewhere along the way, but they had picked up Ducky, and the lab wasn't that big. "Have you got something?"

"Good thing I _don't_ have claustrophobia," she muttered, turning to her computer. "And I don't know," she added louder. "I ran their blood, nothing came back out of the ordinary. Various drugs, nothing unusual." She shrugged angrily. "Their clothes were more interesting. I found pine resin on some items, but there aren't any forests around here that would explain the levels I did find. I mean, the fact that I found any at all -."

"Abby," Gibbs cut in. "Anything useful."

She actually gave him a glare. "You're the investigator," she snapped as she turned back to the computer. "I ran further tests on the wheat. Turns out its not just any old wheat. Its organic durum wheat, which is weird, not many people grow it. Especially not in Poland."

"What areas do grow it?" Sheppard asked before Gibbs could, coming up closer to join in the conversation.

Abby planted a hard glare on him. "None specifically," she snapped. "It's one of those choice things. Kind of like not leaving people behind."

"Abby!" Gibbs snapped before Sheppard could do or say anything more than flinch and half turn away. The greying agent wasn't the only one either. DiNozzo and McGee both stepped forward, shock on their faces as they admonished the forensics expert.

"No," Sheppard told them, looking like he'd be floored. "She has a right to be pissed." He turned to Abby and obviously ignored her accusation. "Are there any farms within an hour that might grow it?"

"A few," she admitted, still angry, and not giving the colonel any leeway. "But none with any connections to Olczak's gang. Because I got bored and researched him as well."

"You actually managed to find info on him?" Gibbs asked, surprised. Olczak was supposed to be a dead man.

"A little," she told them. "He's big on his property, no doubt as places to conduct his nefarious business." She shook her pigtails. "He's got houses, a few farms, that kind of thing, all over Poland." She sighed and looked upset. "It won't be easy narrowing it down to just one place."

"It will be in the open," Ducky interrupted, stepping forward as well. "I cannot see the Wraith enjoying the city air without feeding much more than they have." At a curious glance from Sheppard, the older man shrugged. "I too had more time than I needed. I decided to read a few reports on the Wraith." He shuddered. "Though I wish one of them had mentioned the addiction."

Abby frowned at his words, and then leaned one hip against the bench the computer was on. "I have to agree with Ducky," she told them. "If the Wraith were in any city, or even any big town, we would be hearing about deaths, disappearances. I mean, this planet is a smorgasboard for them. I don't think they'd be able to help themselves."

Sheppard scowled at them both. "Suddenly everyone's an expert," he muttered, before sighing. "But I agree. So where in Poland would our organic wheat growing, drug loving, fishing, piney gangsters come from?"

"You could ask Piotrowski," DiNozzo suggested with a shrug.

"No!" Gibbs said quickly, only this time the mimic was Sheppard himself. The colonel gave Gibbs a suspicious look and then continued. "He won't tell us anything. We've already tried."

"How hard?" DiNozzo shot back, earning a surprised glance from everyone. "Hey, I'm just saying… look, it sucks, but this is Ziva we're talking about. And your own team, Sheppard. And the world, while we're adding people to the list. It's worth one scumbag."

"You'd think so, wouldn't you," Sheppard snapped right back, crossing his arms. "Until you have to do it, DiNozzo. Are you offering your professional expertise?"

"I didn't say that!" Tony snarled. "I know I wouldn't get anywhere. But surely someone on this base -."

"Not in time," Sheppard interrupted him. "Whatever we did, it would take time. And time is the one thing we don't have."

Sensing a break in the argument, Abby suddenly raised her hand, snapping it up into the air before the two men could continue biting each other's head off. Everyone turned to stare at her, Sheppard apparently concerned with what the others recognised as Abby's regular behaviour.

"I think I might know," she told them, a grin spreading on her face. "I mean, I wouldn't have even thought about it if I hadn't researched Olczak's real estate because you guys took your time getting -."

"Where?" Gibbs interrupted, his heart beating fast.

"Not anywhere nearby," she told them. "Not even anywhere in Poland. I think it's actually a part of Denmark. But it's open, they have pine trees, fishing is big there, and they're known for growing organic durum wheat."

"Where?" Sheppard repeated in a growl. "Where are you talking about?"

"AnislandcalledBornholm," she rushed out, and it took everyone a moment to translate.

"Bornholm?" Ducky repeated. "Yes, I think that would suit the Wraith's plan quite nicely."

"And Olczak has a really big house on the northern part of it," Abby told them, obviously quite pleased with herself. "Or actually, his uncle does. But you know what gangsters are like. It runs in the family."

"Bornholm," Sheppard breathed, as if testing the name. Somehow he managed to look relieved, impatient and reticent, all at the same time. "Russia's going to hate this."

* * *

"Bornholm," O'Neill groaned, putting his head in a hand. "Oh, Russia is going to absolutely love this."

Sheppard shrugged helplessly. "It makes sense, sir. Bornholm may as well be the ass end of nowhere."

"Aptly put," O'Neill granted. "But I thought small towns were supposed to be snoopy, curious, that kind of thing."

"Not if they know Olczak," Gibbs put in from where he sat in the chair in Woolsey's office. It was just the four of them now, for which Sheppard was grateful. Abby's lab had started to feel small. "If they know exactly who owns the house, I'm sure they keep any snooping to an absolute nil."

"So, what's the plan, colonel?" Woolsey asked, bringing the conversation back to topic. "I assume you have one."

Sheppard had half expected the man object to them going in, but he figured after a year in charge of Atlantis, the IOA rep knew when they had to do these kinds of missions.

"As a matter of fact, I do," John told him, standing up straight. "Olczak's house is like a fortress, even more so then Szymański's. But it was built in the '30s, so even with the electrified fence, the fifteen foot stone fence, the alarms, lights and motion detectors… it's not impenetrable."

Woolsey's mouth slowly dropped. "It's not?" the leader demanded. "Cause it sure as hell sounds like it."

Sheppard shook his head, and then grinned. "Would you believe me if I told you there's a way in through a sewer tunnel. It lets out into the ocean. We take a jumper, park it a distance away from the entrance, and get in through the tunnel, just like we did at Szymański's house."

O'Neill snorted. "That's a stupid plan," he told them subtly. "Okay, they might not exactly be expecting you to know where he is, but Olczak obviously isn't an idiot, and he knows how you got into Szymański's house. If he knows there's the slightest possibility you've found him, he'll have that entrance watched."

"That's what we're counting on," Gibbs spoke up, standing up from his seat and walking over to the table. "If Olczak's as good as we think he is, he'll catch any team getting in through there. And it should be enough distraction for another jumper to land on his roof and get in that way. He has a helicopter pad after all."

"The roof?" O'Neill demanded, scowling at them. "Weren't you the ones just saying he had motion detectors all over that place?"

"Which won't be working once we let off an EMP," Sheppard explained with a rushed sigh, clearly waiting for the argument.

There was a pause. A long one, and then Woolsey made a strangled noise in the back of his throat. "You want to what?"

"Let off an Electromagnetic Pulse," Sheppard told him calmly. "It'll be perfectly safe. It'll be in the back of the first jumper. We can remote detonate it, or something, it wipes out the electricity in Olczak's house, and then we can stop the Wraith all together. Besides, the fate of the world is in our hands."

"Like that's unusual," O'Neill muttered, as Woolsey's jaw dropped slowly, and there was another long pause.

"That is the most far-fetched plan you've ever come up with, colonel," Woolsey finally snapped.

"But it might just work," O'Neill muttered.

"What?"

"Well, it might," the general told the Atlantis commander in a gruff tone. "You've read every single SGC report, Woolsey. How many times has far-fetched won the day?"

Woolsey made another noise in the back of his throat. "But… this is… beyond… I mean… Come on!"

"It sounds crazy. And dangerous," O'Neill added, with a warning look for Sheppard. John just tried to look calm and relaxed. He wasn't bothered by this at all. "But you're right. The fate of the entire galaxy rests in our hands. Again. We need crazy and dangerous."

Sheppard nodded in agreement, and was a little bit surprised to see Gibbs nodding as well. "We need unpredictable," he added to O'Neill's words. "Olczak knows us, and he knows me. That much Piotrowski showed us. This will work."

For a third time there was a long pause, only this time it seemed to stretch forever. But finally Woolsey shared a glanced with O'Neill, who nodded. On Atlantis, Woolsey might have had the final say, but when it came to the protection of this planet, General O'Neill was the highest authority.

"Fine," Woolsey breathed. "Colonel, you have a go. Will two hours be enough to be ready?"

"We'll be ready in an hour," Sheppard promised with a sharp nod. "Four teams of marines. Two for the first jumper, two for the second."

"And are you planning on having NCIS there with you?" Woolsey asked slowly, glancing at Gibbs. The agent stood up straighter under the gaze, meeting Woolsey's eyes and never dropping them, daring everyone to say no.

"If they follow my orders – all of them… then I don't have a problem." Again, Gibbs openly bristled, but he remained silent, hopefully realising it was the only way he was going on the mission.

Woolsey nodded, and O'Neill crossed his arms. "One hour then," the general agreed, giving Gibbs a quick, half-worried glance. "Two jumpers and four units. If that's all you want…"

"It is," Sheppard told him quickly. "Any more the team's too big."

O'Neill was silent for a moment, and Sheppard realised fast that the general was weighing him up. Or more precisely, his state of mind. But finally he nodded. "Okay. One hour, colonel. Go get your team ready."

Sheppard nodded and then saluted, to some surprise from both Gibbs and Woolsey but he ignored them both as he turned sharply and left the office. The agent was hot on his heels, but the other two men remained in the office. No doubt to talk about him, them and this potentially suicidal mission.

The walking didn't last long. Just over the bridge from Woolsey's office to the control centre, Gibbs caught his arm, pulling him to a halt and around. When Sheppard met his gaze, the agent looked far too serious for his liking.

"Are you going to be right to do this, Sheppard?"

John gave him an incredulous look. "Shouldn't I be asking you that? You're the civilian, after all."

"I'm serious, John."

"We're not going through this again, Gibbs," the man warned, to a hard stare from the agent.

Gibbs scowled at him. "I've done my time in uniform," he snapped. "And part of that time was learning when I might be more of a liability than any good."

The anger hit quickly, and Sheppard yanked his arm out of Gibbs' grip. "I'm no liability," he hissed, careful to hide his words from the audience in the control centre. "I'm not going to screw up, not again. I'm going on this mission."

"And you're going to be on the distraction team, because you feel guilty, and you feel like that's where you need to be, and because you're Colonel Suicidal Sheppard."

"No," John snapped, jerking a finger at the man. "I'm on the distraction team because that's where Olczak will expect me to be. He'll know something's up if I'm not. And because I'm not going to let my men go on a really dangerous mission without being able to put myself in the same danger. I'm not an armchair commander, Gibbs."

"And I know that," Gibbs told him, looking around at the few people staring at them. He sighed. "But who knows what will happen when you actually come across Olczak. Who knows what you'll feel, or what you'll want to do. I know what I'd want to do. But I've already lost one team member because you couldn't put your own personal problems aside, and I refuse to lose anymore because what happened to you is screwing with your decision making!"

That was a low blow, and judging by the guilt in Gibbs eyes, the agent knew it. Sheppard just stared at him, a little shocked, before shaking his head and walking off. "I don't have to listen to this bullshit."

John heard Gibbs give a growl, and then run to catch up with him, moving quickly enough to get in front of him and force him to stop. "Look, Sheppard, I know you don't want to hear this. But emotionally, you're damaged goods. You need to speak to someone. You know you do." He scowled and looked away for a minute. "Look, I hate these stupid speeches. But someone needs to ask you these questions, and the powers that be are too busy pandering to yours and their need to save the world to do it. I need to know my team is going to be safe if we go in with you."

"You've got nothing to worry about," Sheppard snapped. "Yeah, you're right. At Szymański's house, I screwed up. I told that to Abby. But this isn't just about finding my team anymore. I hope to God they're on Bornholm. But if they're not… This is about stopping the Wraith bringing 10,000 years of pain and suffering and hell to the Milky Way. I won't be responsible for that as well. I won't be." He paused, waiting for another argument, but Gibbs seemed satisfied, giving him a long glance – he was getting sick of those – and a short nod. "Good. Now, you need to suit up. You'll be with Major Graham's team."

"I'll be what?" Gibbs demanded, taking his turn at defending. "No way, I'm with you."

"No, you're not," Sheppard told him calmly. "You and DiNozzo are with Major Graham's team, and Captain Atler's team."

"And McGee?" Gibbs asked slowly.

"Not even entering the building," Sheppard answered succinctly. "And you're lucky DiNozzo is. Hell, you're lucky you are. No, McGee's on the first jumper, and he's going to be looking after the EM Generator."

"I'm more than capable of going in with you," Gibbs told him, his voice warning.

"And I don't care what capabilities you may or may not have. You're a great investigator, Gibbs. But my mission, my orders. Following them is part of coming along. I don't need cowboys."

"Miss the irony of that sentence?" Gibbs demanded dryly, crossing his arms. "I can handle myself, Sheppard. And I'll follow your orders." The words sounded like they tasted foul.

"You can't handle yourself like my marines can," John answered matter-of-factly. "And that fact is, I'm not putting you in that kind of danger. You'll be of more use, communicating with McGee, and finding whatever the Wraith have planned, and destroying it while me and my team keep them distracted."

"I'm not -."

"No," Sheppard interrupted, getting serious now. "You were a marine for a long time, Gunny," he continued, his eyes never leaving Gibbs'. "But times change. Until we step foot on Atlantis again, I'm your CO. And my decision on this is not wavering." He paused, waiting again for further argument, but the older man just clenched his teeth and nodded, accepting – finally – that it was all he was getting.

"Good," John breathed. "Now, go find DiNozzo and McGee, and then go find Atler. He'll organise you with uniforms and weapons." He paused and then grinned. "How do you reckon you'd go handling a P90?"

* * *

It felt strange to be flying a jumper on Earth.

Sheppard hadn't been sure he would be allowed to, not on a planet where maybe a dozen countries had the technology that could potentially spot them. Who knew what Russia, England, France had developed? And then there were some that didn't even know about the Stargate. What could they possibly have hidden from the world?

Usually when John flew a jumper, all he had to worry about were possible Wraith attacks. The Wraith didn't let anyone reach a high enough stage of technical development to build things like radar. And wouldn't let Earth keep it, if they ever reached the Milky Way.

Now though, on Earth, he not only had to worry about Wraith and radar, but he had planes and even birds.

Yep, the best pilot on Atlantis – not that he would ever admit it – had already had a near miss with a big bad bird of prey that hadn't seen the cloaked Ancient spacecraft.

But now he was flying through lower orbit where eagles couldn't attack him, and where he seriously doubted – hoped – Earth radar could pick up on his signal. Not that he really thought anyone could anyway.

They were currently flying over France; Sheppard, Lorne, Walker, McGee and another team of marines all cramped into the tiny-seeming jumper. Tiny-seeming because it also held a 4x3 foot EM Generator. Jumper Two – also cloaked – flew somewhere to their right, complete with eight more marines and two more NCIS agents. A small army all together, and Sheppard hoped it would be enough to take down the Wraith, Olczak and all their plans.

They crossed into Germany and Sheppard opened up communications. "ETA is five minutes," he told his men, Jumper Two, and Atlantis listening in on the other side of the Atlantic and the American continent.

"Understood, Jumper One," O'Neill's voice came back quickly, and full of confidence.

The next voice wasn't quite so. "You sure this will work, colonel?" Woolsey asked, very obviously worried.

Sheppard rolled his eyes. "Yes," he replied firmly. "Request radio silence. Who knows what these guys have set up."

"Affirmative," O'Neill responded in a slight growl. At Woolsey, no doubt. "Good luck, colonel. And I don't need to remind you that's for more than just your sake."

"Thank you, sir," Sheppard replied as un-dryly as he could manage before cutting off communications. "No pressure or anything."

The jumper slipped across the border into Poland and Sheppard looked back down the jumper, making sure his men were ready.

They were ready, calm and menacing looking. Poor McGee looked out of place, even in his borrowed BDUs.

"Jumper Two, fall back," Sheppard called, bringing his own jumper down into the atmosphere. "Give us fifteen minutes before following."

"Understood," Lieutenant Hunt's voice came back. "Good luck, sir."

"You too, Lieutenant. Sheppard out."

The Baltic Sea spread out beneath them, dark in the shadowy hours before dawn, and a bruised colour, threatening almost. Sheppard quickly decided his imagination was running away from him.

"Okay, boys and girls," he called back to his team, all on their lonesome now, as the island of Bornholm came into view. "Let the party begin."


	16. Chapter 16

**Author's Note:** OKay, I'm nervous as all hell! I'm about to have an interview for a position in my halls of residence at my university, a position which, if i get it, means i'll be in charge of about twenty other residents, making sure they're okay and everything... gulp!... i hate interviews so much! wish me luck though!

* * *

**Chapter 16**

McKay only jumped when the door slammed open this time. Although to be honest, he jumped pretty high, coming up off his seat and spinning about as he landed, just in time to catch sight of the Wraith entering the room, this time minus their evil human partners.

"Are you finished?" the lead Wraith asked, the same one from before.

"You know, I never caught your name," Rodney stalled, fidgeting, trying not to hyperventilate. God, where was Sheppard? He needed to be here, right not. Or at least within the next hour. Probably less.

The Wraith snarled at him, and McKay gulped. Definitely probably less. "Okay," the Atlantean stammered out. "I just… it always works for Sheppard!"

He was letting his mouth run away with him. Or from him. The Wraith snarled back at him, doing that lip rictus thing that always made Rodney want to wet his pants when it was accompanied by the all-too-obvious hungry eating tightening of the hand.

God, he thought about this far too much.

The Wraith took a menacing step forward, and McKay walked backwards into his desk. "Are. You. Finished?" the alien demanded again.

McKay nodded. "It's done. It is. Only just, mind. You wouldn't believe how hard it is to -."

"Take him back downstairs!" the Wraith interrupted. Two drones came forward, and Rodney tried not to gulp as they grabbed him by the arms. The lead Wraith continued to stare promisingly at him.

"If this works, Dr McKay… I may just kill you quickly."

Oh yeah. Definitely less.

* * *

Sheppard touched the jumper down twenty feet from the opening of the storm drain. At least, he thought that was what it was, jutting out of the rocks. It was taller than he was, massive really, and he just could not think for the life of him why a drain needed to be that big.

But it suited their purposes now, as he powered down the still cloaked jumper. "Okay," he told everyone quietly, standing up and accepting the P90 from Major Lorne. "Remember everyone. They're supposed to catch us. I don't want anyone playing the cowboy. They surround us, you lay down your weapons on my command, understood?"

Everyone nodded, and Sheppard moved to the rear of the compartment. "Sergeant Wheeler, you're manning the jumper." And McGee, who was manning the EM Generator. "Everyone else, let's move."

It didn't take them long to reach the opening of the storm drain, even as the sky began to lighten and the shadows disappeared. Sheppard took the lead, giving Lorne their six, and the half dozen of them filed through the entrance to the drain and forward towards Olczak's house.

* * *

High above them, waiting in Jumper Two, Major Graham shared a look with the leader of the second marine team going in via the roof. "What do you reckon, Atler?"

Gibbs stood with them, hands resting comfortably on his own P90. "It's been fifteen," he offered, nodding decisively when neither marine even tried to stare him down. "I say we move."

Captain Atler nodded in agreement. "We can always take it slow, if we think the colonel might not have enough time yet."

Graham nodded and put his hand on Hunt's shoulder as he stared down at Earth, as if he could see his CO's movements from this high. "Okay, take us down, Lieutenant." He turned around and met Gibbs eyes. "Hope you're ready, Agent Gibbs. There's no turning back now."

Gibbs checked the cartridge on his P90, and then glanced back at DiNozzo, not as comfortable with his P90, but capable. Sheppard had made sure of it. And then he glanced at the other marines, all ready, all determined, before looking back at Graham.

"There never was, Major."

* * *

Sheppard could tell they were getting close when they rounded a corner and found a light illuminating the drain. Protected by plastic, it still shone brightly, and Sheppard nodded.

"Well, at least we know someone comes down here," he muttered. "Looks like we're getting close."

The drain was starting to twist more, and Sheppard slowed down, trying to think as if he were trying to take the building, not trying to get caught. He needed to move the same as he always did, needed to be predictable. Because Olczak would know the moment he did something different. The Pole had a knack for knowing people, and their ways.

So he slowed down and took the corners as subtly as he could, all too aware that the fifteen minutes he had given Jumper Two were slowly winding to a close. But they were getting closer to the mansion. Sheppard could feel it.

And smell it, see it in the grates that suddenly started appearing overhead. He tried not to look at them, ninety – okay, eighty – percent sure that was where the 'ambush' would come from.

The opposition didn't disappoint. Sheppard rounded a corner, the final one, he realised as soon as he came around it and spotted the heavy steel door fifteen feet in front of him. After he spotted the dozen or so flashlight-mounted rifles pointed at him and his team.

Then feet fell from the ceiling, followed quickly by uniformed bodies, surrounding the small team as the Atlanteans swept their weapons every way, looking, or pretending to look for an out. There wasn't one, obviously, not with nearly twenty guns aimed at them, but the Atlantis team never let their aim drop.

There was a long silence, as the two groups eyed each other off. And then footsteps came forward, moving between the guards, and Sheppard swept his aim that way.

"Well, well, well."

Sheppard's heart pounded at that familiar voice, and the sudden urge to either pull the trigger or vomit filled him, and he took two, three steps forward, rage, hatred and even fear threatening to consume him before shouts and cocking guns made him realise he had moved at all. He forced himself to take a deep breath, trying to breathe at all, and removed his finger from the trigger, meeting Olczak face on as the bald man stopped just inside the circle of his guards.

"Colonel Sheppard," Olczak said with a half-amazed shake of his head. "I must say, I did not expect you to be up on your feet."

"A few bullets can't stop me," he replied with a slight tilt of his head. He ignored the hard edge to his own voice.

"Ah, but more than a few would hit you this time, no?" the Pole asked, his smirk becoming smug. "You should lower your weapon."

"Not a chance," Sheppard snarled instantly.

"Will you sacrifice the lives of your team?" Olczak demanded, sounding shocked. "My, my, how a few days can change things. Only a week ago, you were practically begging me to torture you just so I wouldn't torture your team."

Sheppard stopped the flinch just in time, though he could feel a few of his men all but itching to turn and glance at him. Olczak chuckled as he realised the effect his words had.

"Do they not realise the depths you would go to for them?" the Pole asked sweetly, nodding at the men behind Sheppard, who were still staring down a couple of rifles each. "Will you really get them killed now?" He paused, and Sheppard glared at him, never dropping the stare. Olczak smirked again. "Put your weapons down, Colonel."

John refused to drop the stare for a few more seconds, even as he pretended to mull it over. Then he gave a growl, and dropped the aim of his P90. "Lower your weapons."

Slowly the rest of the team lowered their weapons, let the Poles take all their guns, each with varying degrees of compliance. But they all knew the plan; Sheppard just hoped this part didn't hurt too much.

_Not likely,_ he thought, as one of the guards snatched his weapon away. And followed it up with a hard hit from the end of the P90.

Sheppard stood back up straight, wiping the blood from his chin, and staring at Olczak rather than the man who had hit him. The bald Pole just kept on smirking, before turning to one of his men. "Zabierz amerykanów do celi," he ordered in Polish, and one of the men pulled Sheppard roughly aside while the others rounded up the rest of his men. Sheppard stiffened slightly, having hoped this wouldn't happen, but he nodded at Lorne anyway, telling his men to go quietly. Hopefully McGee could set off the EM Generator before they were locked in any cells. Sheppard watched them go, left with three of his own guards and Olczak.

The gang leader stared at his American counterpart, before cocking his head. "Shall we, then? You are actually right on time, Sheppard," Olczak told him, raising an eyebrow. "The Wraith are ready to put their plan into action. You are just in time to see the planet set on a course that will see us become more powerful than you can imagine."

"You're kidding right?" Olczak didn't respond to Sheppard as one of the guards pushed him forward, into the bowels of the mansion. John grunted as the butt of a rifle dug into his back, ignored it. "The Wraith don't share power. Surely you know that."

"I know that we can use them as a threat to get whatever we want," Olczak replied. "A few Wraith, versus my people? They will have no chance, and then the world will have to give into us or face the threat of extinction."

"Are you serious?" Sheppard demanded, sure that the man was completely insane. "I don't think you understand just how many Wraith will be on their way here once that message is sent."

"We can handle them."

Sheppard shook his head, and then grunted again as someone pushed him forward. "It's not dozens, Olczak." The Pole glanced back, eyeing Sheppard, who quickly realised that the bald man hadn't expected any of them to know who he was. "How did you think we found you, _Olczak_? I mean, this is your house."

"True, but I did think you would use your technology, not your… brains."

"You're the one not using your brains," Sheppard snapped as they crossed the threshold into the house proper. He could tell, because apparently Olczak had a medieval fetish. Sheppard smirked. "Nostalgic much?"

Another push in the back, another grunt, and Sheppard decided to keep the smart comments to himself. They were running out of time. He hoped Olczak told them where the Wraith were doing all their… Wraith stuff sometime soon. Before Jumper Two landed on the roof and set off alarms before McGee could activate the EM Generator.

"Where was I?" he asked, still studying the halls, looking for something, anything, any kind of sign. "Oh yeah, not using your brains. Thinking that, at most, dozens of Wraith would come to Earth looking for brunch."

They took a corner, and still the medieval kick continued. Sheppard just frowned and avoided the push by not shaking his head. "Yeah, no, not dozens. Hundreds, maybe. Thousands, probably. Hungry after a months-long journey through hyperspace, feeding only off the humans they manage to store on their ships. Which means you won't just be responsible for the deaths of millions in this galaxy, but millions in the Pegasus Galaxy as well."

Olczak glared at him. "They mean nothing to me," he snapped, before regaining his composure and his smirk. "Besides, it will not be my fault. In fact, do you know who will have the fault?" They stopped before a door, and Sheppard saw the first sign of the 21st century in the pinpad beside the door. Besides the lights, of course.

The Pole entered a code, and then pushed the door open, revealing a dark room with two technicians. The room was large and lit only by the screens of a dozen or so monitors, each showing a full colour view of a section of the house and its grounds. The tunnel where Sheppard and his team had entered. An empty bedroom complete with a dozen beds. An empty computer lab.

And what looked like the basement, complete with cells, and…

"My team," he breathed before he could stop himself, walking into the room, flinching slightly as the door slammed closed. "They're alive."

"They are," Olczak told him, walking forward to the monitor with his team, his friends, his family on it. Someone zoomed in on an anxious looking McKay, pacing in his filthy cell, still blood-stained, still bruised, but still gloriously alive. "And they have been most helpful."

"Liar! If you've hurt them," Sheppard growled menacingly, which one of the guards apparently took offence to. He swung the butt of his rifle up and Sheppard fell to one knee, testing out his bruising jaw.

Well, he had expected it to happen, but he really hoped they didn't ruin his plan. Which he had to put into motion. Right now.

"You're going to regret this, Olczak."

_God, please let this work._

* * *

"What do you think?" Graham asked as the Jumper moved lower and lower, descending slowly into the foggy sea sky as dawn just began creeping over the edges, illuminating the horizon with a single line of soft gold. But Gibbs knew now was no time to be poetic.

Nor to be hesitant. He shook his head before Atler could answer. "We have no choice," he told them. "It's been fifteen minutes, for sure."

The two Atlanteans shared a look, and then Atler shrugged. "I still agree with him." He looked out the front window, down at the house slowly growing in front of them. "The colonel said fifteen minutes."

Graham nodded, but he didn't look convinced. Gibbs decided to try again.

"We have to trust that Colonel Sheppard and his team will get their job done," he reminded the major sharply. "Just like they will be trusting us to get ours done."

Graham scowled at him, but nodded, turning back to the pilot. "Okay, Hunt. Let's land this tub."

Atler gave him a nervous grin from his seat. "I wouldn't let Colonel Sheppard hear you saying that if I were you," he warned with some levity.

Graham just gave him a tight smile and looked back out the front, mind focused entirely on the mission at hand.

Gibbs studied the major for a moment longer, before swivelling in his own seat and looking down into the rear compartment. DiNozzo, looking strangely militaristic in his borrowed uniform and with the P90 tight in his hands, met Gibbs gaze and gave a strong nod. He was ready for whatever would come.

Gibbs just hoped he realised what ready really meant.

* * *

Outside the rain had begun pelting onto the jumper, and Wheeler was muttering worriedly about the outline of the Ancient spaceship being visible, but McGee barely heard him.

He sat in the rear compartment, staring mindlessly at the key to their plan, the key to hopefully saving this galaxy and the Pegasus Galaxy. But he really didn't see the EM Generator. All he could think about was the team who had just let themselves be captured, and his own team, Ziva, who he hoped with all his heart was in this very mansion. And Gibbs and DiNozzo, flying high above them in Jumper Two. He hoped they were okay. All of them.

It sounded like things were going smoothly enough. He could hear it all, via the chip hidden in Sheppard's teeth. They couldn't communicate, but McGee could listen in. He almost wished he couldn't. He hated sitting here, hearing everything that went on in Sheppard's little world, and not being able to do anything about the hits, or the bitter words, or the anything.

He was sure that was what had Wheeler's back up as well. The marine couldn't sit still, shifting from pilot's seat to looking out the front window to pacing in the rear compartment to –

He shook his head and tuned back into Sheppard, waiting for those words that would tell him to initiate the device.

"- won't just be responsible for the deaths of millions in this galaxy, but millions in the Pegasus Galaxy as well."

McGee leaned back, rubbing his hands together, trying to stop the nervous shakes. It wasn't like he was in any kind of danger. If anyone approached them, Wheeler would just fly them away, to a new location. Not that anyone had yet. So no, he wasn't in any danger.

He was just worried sick, that was all. He hated being the one sitting back, working the tech, but never actually getting in there and doing something… proactive.

"They mean nothing to me." And there was Olczak again, barely audible, but scary enough for it, in his smooth accent and perfect English, and cold voice. "Besides, it will not be my fault. In fact, do you know who will have the fault?"

McGee leaned forward. "Come on, Sheppard," he breathed, glancing at Wheeler to check if the sergeant had heard him. It didn't look like it. The man was back to staring out the window.

"My team," Sheppard suddenly breathed. "They're alive."

"They are. And they have been most helpful."

"Liar! If you've hurt them."

McGee flinched as a sharp whine came through the radio, the sound of Sheppard being struck in the jaw again. Man, by the time these guys were through, he wouldn't be able to hear Sheppard at all. "Come on, colonel."

"He'll make it, Agent McGee," Wheeler promised quietly, nodding as he leaned against the open bulkhead doors. "He will."

The man must have been psychic. "You're going to regret this, Olczak."

After the ten minutes waiting for those very words, McGee almost didn't recognise them. His heart have a pound, before he had even moved, and his mind screamed at him, _This is it!_

He jumped up, and over the foot distance between him and the EM Generator, fingers moving deftly over the keypad just like Zelenka had told him. The lights started flashing, the whirring began, and McGee sat back.

"Is it working?" Wheeler asked in a near-whisper. McGee gave a shrugging nod.

"I think so. Zelenka said to wait for the overload light to come on and wait ten seconds."

Wheeler frowned as if he found something familiar in those instructions, but McGee didn't see it as the red light came on at the base of the generator.

"10… 9… 8…" _Please let this work._ "5… 4…" _Please, please, please…_ "2… 1."

He reached down and pressed the discharge button.


	17. Chapter 17

**Author's Note:** Okay, two exams and an RA interview done and dusted... only two more exams to go... in one day... I can do that... Right...

Let's just get back to Sheppard.

* * *

**Chapter 17**

"You're going to regret this, Olczak."

The man gave a cold laugh. "_I _am going to regret this?" he gave another laugh, and stalked over to where Sheppard was still kneeling on one leg, testing out his jaw, hoping really hard that the two knocks hadn't knocked the device loose. He gave a single nod.

"Yeah. You are definitely going to regret this."

Olczak snorted and gave him a strong backhand for the words. Sheppard just grunted, hating the stinging feeling.

"Come on, Olczak. I know you can do better than that."

The Pole raised an eyebrow. "I am well aware, colonel," the man muttered. "I spent four days doing 'better'. All so I wouldn't lay a hand on your precious team. Oh, you never said that, no, but a man gets to know the people he tortures, almost in an intimate way."

It had to be getting close. "And yet you still couldn't crack me," John reminded him with a sneer, not bothering to get to his feet. "Four days, and you got to know me, and yet, I gave you nothing. You failed."

Two things happened at once. Olczak's deep grin turned instantly into a deep glare, anger bursting forward like a damn had broken, and he stormed back over, preparing another fist for a second, stronger punch.

But he never got to execute it. Because the second thing that happened was all the lights, the monitors, everything electrical shut off simultaneously, leaving the room pitch black as the door slammed shut.

Sheppard was the first to recover, mostly because he had been expecting it. He leapt to his feet, eyes adjusting to the dark, and grabbed Olczak's outstretched arm in a tight grip, pulling the man in close and lashing out with an open palm, hitting the Pole's throat hard enough to make him stumble backwards, gasping for air.

The other men in the room, guards for the most part, had recovered by that stage, and two came at John, guns raised, but eyes still mostly blind in the darkness, enough so that they couldn't risk firing. It certainly levelled the field. At least, enough for Sheppard.

He raced for one, knowing he couldn't face both at once. The man seemed surprised that he was the one being rushed, or maybe it was the fact that John emerged out of the darkness like a ghost, but the Pole didn't stand a chance. The colonel grabbed the muzzle of the rifle, pushing it upwards, but keeping as tight a grip as possible, even as he lashed out with a solid Atlantis-issue boot. The guard was driven backwards by the kick to his gut, winding him enough that he let go of the rifle, and didn't see the butt of his own weapon coming back to hit him in the head.

One down, four to go.

He jammed the end of the gun into his shoulder and looked down the line of the rifle, both eyes open, ears straining for any movements in the room.

A soft footfall on the ground behind him. He turned fast, spinning the gun in his hands to bring it up above his head. The rifle stopped the downwards blow from the second rifle being held by a second guard, and Sheppard followed it up with the butt of the rifle, smashing it up and under his opponent's jaw, breaking something and sending the man to the floor in a crumpled heap.

But the noise had given the other men – three more, plus Olczak, he couldn't forget Olczak – a target to hone in on. One of them appeared out of the darkness, like a ghost, and Sheppard never had a chance to block the punch.

Nor the second one that made him drop the rifle, but he managed to grab the third, ignoring the blood dripping down his cheek and repaying the guard with his own hard right. The man's head snapped around and John took the opportunity to grab the Pole's hair, slamming the face down onto his knee. Dirty, but sometimes you had to play dirty.

That made it three down, but he was still making too much noise. Someone grabbed him from behind, pinning his arms to his side, while a second man floated in from the front.

He had to act fast, because the guy holding him was crushing his broken ribs, and the guy in front of him looked doubly mean in the dark.

He jerked his head back, but for the first time that didn't work – the Pole anticipated the move and the man coming in punched him hard in the face.

Guessing he was going to look colourful for the next few days, Sheppard did the next thing that came to mind. He lashed out with a low kick, and his steel-toed Atlantis-issue boots connected solidly with a not so steely groin.

The other man stopped, a look of surprise on his paling face, and John followed it up with a hard kick to the side of the head.

As soon as his foot was down, Sheppard gathered his strength and pushed backwards, driving the man holding him backwards, and into something hard. The man grunted loudly, let go, and Sheppard spun a half-circle, using the momentum to punch the Pole as hard as he could. That only dazed the man, so John grabbed his shirt and slammed his head back as well, just for good measure. It hit something breakable – a monitor, he figured out – and the man's eyes rolled into the back of his head.

Which left a silent room, but he didn't dare believe that one strike had taken Olczak out. Hoped it hadn't. Moving as silently as he could, he moved back the way he had come, looking for the rifle he had dropped.

Luck was with him, and he saw it before his feet could knock into it and alert Olczak to his presence. He ducked down to pick it up, checked quickly that it was intact before stopping completely, straining his eyes and ears for any sign of his last remaining opponent.

"I should have known you were good, Colonel Sheppard," Olczak's voice suddenly came from over to his right.

Sheppard spun that way, wondering why the hell Olczak had revealed himself, but not really caring. Not wanting to know why the gangster sounded amused.

"You haven't seen the half of it," he answered back before he could help himself, sweeping the aim of the gun over the darkness, searching for a shape that looked just a little like Olczak.

"I think that I have," the man answered, this time a little to his left. Sheppard changed course, but the man was closer. "I told you, remember. You get to know a man when you torture him."

"And what did you learn about me?" He was close now, very close. "Anything that's going to help you out now?"

The man gave a small chuckle. He could only be two or three feet away, where the hell was he? "I learned that you are far too reckless, Colonel."

If anything, Sheppard felt the wind first. Apparently not sure of his aim in the darkness, Olczak had decided to use his own rifle as a club, and he had decided to swing it at Sheppard's head, no doubt hard enough to kill him.

John ducked, but not quickly enough to miss the entire blow; the rifle clipped his head, and his roll became a fall.

He turned over onto his back instantly, not letting go of his only weapon, but bringing it up to block Olczak's chopping motion. Thinking fast, and fast getting sick of fighting in the dark, Sheppard kicked up, aiming for Olczak's side. But the man was good, maybe too good, and he blocked Sheppard's leg with the gun.

Well, this was getting him nowhere. He pulled his gun back, once again jammed it against his shoulder, and pulled back the hammer, fully intending on shooting the man in his chest.

Again, Olczak moved too fast. Still using his gun as a club, he slammed the butt against the muzzle of Sheppard's just as the colonel pulled the trigger. The bullet missed, but John used the distraction to roll backwards, getting to his feet.

And again Olczak had moved incredibly fast. He kept time with Sheppard, refusing to give any quarter, again lashing out like he was swinging a club.

This time John blocked it with his own gun, just taking the moment to stop it before changing the direction of his block and swinging hard at Olczak's face.

The gangster leaned back, away from the end, and made his first mistake, exposing his entire stomach. John couldn't resist and kicked out hard, pushing Olczak back and down. The man disappeared into the darkness.

John followed, determined not to lose sight of him even as the Pole copied the American's move and rolled over his shoulder to his feet.

"You will not beat me, Sheppard," Olczak hissed, coming in as well.

Sheppard grinned. "That's where you're wrong," he snapped back, obviously surprising the man enough that he only just blocked the colonel's own club-like swing, and the follow up kick.

Olczak responded with his own kick, which Sheppard evaded, and an angry question, "Am I?"

"You bet your ass, you are," John told him, swinging with the rifle again, feeling the jarring impact of the block, but this time leaving the gun there. "Because you've become weak."

"I am not weak!" Olczak snarled, swinging hard with his club. Sheppard did duck this time, and spun to the side, lashing out with a foot: he hit flesh, and Olczak grunted.

"You sound weak to me," Sheppard told him cheerfully, backing off for a second, trying to catch his breath. "You looked weak to me a week ago as well."

Olczak snorted. "While I was digging into your skin with knives and hot pokers?" he demanded. "I do not think so."

"What did you get from me?" Sheppard asked him in a hard voice, feeling the emotions, the memories fuel his strength into something he could use, something more than rage, and hatred and fear, something that could give him revenge. And all the while, Olczak's anger was fuelled into mistakes. With every move, John felt like he was taking control of his own head again, for the first time since he had escaped, exiling the memories, the pain, the flinches. He hurried back in and swung the gun like a golf club, aiming for Olczak's chin, and missing by inches as the Pole jerked his head to the side back. "You got nothing!"

Olczak chuckled. "Screams, Sheppard. I got screams. Oh, you screamed like a woman the day I shot you in the thigh."

Sheppard flinched, and then hardened. He had to end this, he had to do this, or else he wouldn't ever be okay again. "But you didn't get anything from me. From any of us." He danced around a few steps, circling the Pole. "Because you're a failure. Because you're weak. Because you're nothing. I made you nothing. You were nothing."

Olczak gave a loud scream, and turned, swinging the rifle as hard as he could. Again, Sheppard ducked, but this time he lunged forward as well, dropping his rifle – it was ruined by now anyway – to tackle Olczak to the ground.

The gangster grunted as he hit, and the jarring impact sent visible tremors up his arms, enough so that he dropped his rifle. Before he even knew what was happening, he was staring into his own weapon, being held by a very annoyed and angry American lieutenant colonel sitting on top of him.

Olczak stared at the muzzle for a moment, and then looked Sheppard in the eye, his own face still and emotionless, dark in the very, very dim light of the room. "Are you going to kill me, Sheppard?"

As an answer, Sheppard pulled back the hammer with conviction, earning a flinch from Olczak. "Was thinking about it."

"Do it, then," Olczak whispered in the quiet room, lifting his head and snarling. "I know you can. And I know you want to."

Sheppard was silent for a moment. Olczak was right. He really did want to. And he really could. "You said before that you knew me, Olczak."

The man sneered. "I do know you. Every part of you, Sheppard. That is how I know every bone in your body is screaming for my blood."

"A man gets to know the person he tortures," Sheppard repeated, ignoring Olczak's word. "That's what you said." He gave a cold chuckle. "Well, a man gets to know the person who tortures him. And guess what, Olczak. You're a cold hearted, mean, sadistic son of a bitch. And you don't know me at all."

And he twisted the gun in his hands, lashing out with the butt, connecting with Olczak's head hard enough to break the skin and daze him.

Panting slightly more than he should have been, Sheppard stood up and orientated himself, before stumbling over to the door. He had a team to rescue and a bunch of Wraith to stop.

He got the feeling something was wrong when Olczak began chuckling before he even reached the door.

But he did reach it, cold crawling down his spine, and grabbed for the handle, turned it –

The door handle refused to budge, and Olczak's chuckles got louder. Still dazed, the Pole had remained on the floor, but Sheppard could feel the man's eyes on his back as he tried to move the door. It wouldn't even shake, and he began to get the worst feeling in his gut…

"What did you set off, Sheppard?" Olczak demanded with a slight slur. "Something that interferes with electricity? Am I right? This entire room is electricity. The monitors, the alarms. The door lock." He chuckled again, louder and very happy with himself as Sheppard tried to regain his breath, tried to settle his heart beat.

"When the electricity was disrupted, that door shut and locked us in here, Colonel," Olczak explained smugly. "We are locked in here. Both of us. Until my men find us and blow the door open."

Sheppard turned around slowly, knowing it was true, knowing the door was like the gates and had locked as a security measure when the power was stopped. He stared down at Olczak, still chuckling on the floor.

And Olczak turned his bleeding head again, eyes just visible over the dark distance, and Sheppard just knew he smiled. "You just willingly handed yourself to us. Again, Sheppard."

* * *

McKay paced in his cell, feeling the time rushing by, and hating that he couldn't do anything about it. The Wraith were sure to find out soon. They were smart, they would figure it out, and then he, and Ziva, and Dawson, and his team were all screwed.

They were all down here now as well, both adorning their own filthy cells. Ziva was next to Teyla's, and obviously trying to look after the Athosian woman through the bars. Teyla had to be close to death. She hadn't been taken care of, none of the guards had come down to check on her, even though McKay had practically begged them to help her. Okay, so maybe he had threatened them, but for good reason. He couldn't just sit here and watch a woman he considered family slip away. Dawson didn't look good either, and Ronon had guessed he was severely concussed along with the bullet in his arm.

Of course, if someone didn't show up to rescue them soon, they would all be dead. It couldn't be long now.

He gave a growl and kicked the back wall of the prison. Behind him, Ronon shared a look with Ziva. "McKay, you need to relax."

Rodney ignored the Satedan, just resumed his pacing, wringing his hands when he wasn't running them through his hair. His filthy, dirty, oily hair. God, he would kill for a wash. First thing he did if he ever got back to Atlantis…

If… He had started thinking in if's. He sighed, losing his energy all of a sudden, and using the bars to remain upright. Ronon and Ziva shared another look.

"McKay…" Ronon began slowly, and Rodney closed his eyes, all too aware of what question was coming. "You didn't really… you know… help them."

He said it as a statement, but it sounded all too much like a question. A question McKay couldn't answer right now. He had seen inside this fortress, and even though he couldn't see it, he knew the bald guy would have cameras down here, watching them. Too bad the computer he had been given hadn't been connected to the network, or he would have figured it out, a way to get them all out without the need for Sheppard or anybody. But the bad guys were too smart for that.

So instead of answering his team mate, he turned and went back to his pacing.

For all of two seconds, before the doors to the basement slammed open, and a large group of people came in. Five all too familiar men, weaponless, and surrounded by nine rifle-laden guards.

McKay dashed to the front of the cell. "Lorne!" he hissed before he could help himself. "What the hell… this is not how the rescue is supposed to go down!" He paused, realising there was someone missing, and feeling the bottom drop out of his gut. But he couldn't bring himself to ask.

In the end, Ronon had to, getting to his feet as well, moving to the front of his cell, actually looking as worried as anyone had ever seen the Satedan looking. "Where's Sheppard?" he asked quietly

Ziva had told them he was alive. Or had been the last time she had seen him, disappearing from the hole in Szymański's roof. That was what she had said.

But if that was true, where was he now? Rodney knew Sheppard. And Sheppard wouldn't let anything stop him from going on a suicidal rescue mission.

Thankfully Lorne understood the panic in McKay's face, and shook his head. "He's still upstairs. With Olczak."

Well, that wasn't much better, McKay figured, feeling his face go a little pale. "And you just left him with that monster?"

Lorne scowled at him and motioned at the men surrounding him. "Didn't have much choice in it, McKay."

"Well, this is a crappy rescue mission!" he snapped back.

Lorne raised an eyebrow at him as the group stopped outside a few empty cells closer to the door. "Who said this is a rescue mission?"

It was meant to deflate him, McKay knew that, but he understood the message beneath it. "You found out what the Wraith are planning?" Lorne scowled as he revealed it, and Rodney took that to mean a yes. His heart sank through the new hole in his stomach. "Are you crazy then? How the hell did you manage to get caught? The entire planet could have been culled if-."

He snapped his jaw shut, and not just because he was about to reveal that he hadn't exactly done as the Wraith had asked to all of Olczak's cameras. But mostly because the world suddenly went dark, all without signs or reason, and almost instantly the sounds of scuffles, of flesh hitting flesh filled the room.

Across the way, Ziva could be heard getting to her feet in a rush, moving to the front of her cell, obviously anxious to get involved. McKay wasn't. He couldn't see a damn thing, not his hand a foot in front of his face. He kept to the front of his cell anyway, more so someone could still find him in the darkness than from any real belief that he could actually contribute to whatever was going down.

Whatever it was, it last maybe two minutes, and they were the longest two minutes of McKay's life. He kept a tight hold of the bars, and then took a deep breath as silence fell. Then feet moved somewhere, and McKay really hoped it was Lorne and his men. But all he could do was wait, his nerves on edge, and getting edgier

Suddenly Lorne's face appeared out of nowhere, the keys rattling in his hands as he began unlocking the door. And the major had the nerve to grin, the blood on his face making him look demonic. "How's this for a rescue, McKay?"

* * *

So, one good thing... one bad thing... guess I'll go study for those exams now. One more day and I'm free from uni for the rest of the year, yeah!


	18. Chapter 18

**Author's Note:** Sorry this chapter's posted a bit later than usual, I was going to post before I went to work, but I was having a nanna nap, and woke up to realise I was due at work in 20 minutes, about the time that peak hour traffic happens... But I wanted to post now, cause I'm going home, where there's no net, and I'm going to be there for a couple of days... which means there won't be a post until Monday night sometime... sorry!

* * *

**Chapter 18**

Suddenly a light came on somewhere in the middle of the basement, and McKay flinched away, blinking as a second flashlight joined the first, illuminating the unconscious bodies of the nine guards, and the still standing Atlanteans, though one had a cut on his forehead as he bent down to search an unconscious man for his stolen weapons.

"Jesus…" McKay breathed as Ronon dashed out of the cell another marine was opening, while another turned to open Teyla's. "Just… what did you guys do, cut the power? I didn't even think you could do that for this place."

Lorne grinned at him as the door swung open and McKay was free at last. "You can when you aim an EM Pulse at this place."

McKay's jaw dropped as he stepped out, and he shook his head, but he was a little distracted by Ronon carrying an unconscious Teyla out of her cell, arms and head drooping lifelessly. He decided to save the lecture for later.

He dashed over as Ronon laid her on the floor. A marine – Lieutenant Bradleys, he thought – knelt across from the Satedan, and checked her pulse.

"She's alive," Ronon snarled, and the marine medic nodded, scrabbling at his vest for something from one of his pockets. It turned out to be a field bandage. McKay snorted. "A band aid's probably not going to cut it, at this stage, lieutenant."

"But it will help," the medic snapped back. "So she doesn't bleed out on us while we move her."

"Move her where?" Ziva demanded, joining them once Lorne had let her out as well. She looked at the surrounding soldiers. "I am assuming you have a plan."

"We do," Lorne told them, grabbing something out of his vest. A radio.

"That won't work, seeing as you blasted this place with EM," McKay decided to remind him wryly. "Let me guess, Sheppard's stupid idea?"

"Of course," Lorne told him with a raised eyebrow. "But they weren't on when McGee set the EM Generator off."

"McGee's here?" Ziva demaded. "Which means Gibbs and DiNozzo are as well?"

Lorne nodded before turning back to his men. "Henderson, try to get Colonel Sheppard on the radio. He should have taken care of his guys by now. Bradleys, do what you can for Teyla, but we move out in two minutes." He raised the radio and gave it two clicks.

A voice came back instantly, cocky and recognisable as Major Graham's.

"Lorne, we're in the building. What's your position?"

McKay's jaw dropped again. "The power only went out two minutes ago. How'd they get in fast?"

Everyone ignored his question. "Basement, right wing. Probably right under you," Lorne added. "Head down, and we'll meet you half way. First floor. Stairwell."

"Copied," the other major answered. "First Floor, stairwell. Graham out."

"Right," Lorne decided, pocketing the radio in his vest. "Lieutenant, can Teyla be moved?"

"Not really," Bradleys admitted frankly. "But we don't have much choice. Ronon, can you carry her?"

McKay honestly didn't think the Satedan could. They had been held prisoner for who knew how long, without much food or water, all while being beaten, and hit, and tortured. Not to mention the fact that Ronon had been shot at least once that Rodney could see.

But Ronon swept Teyla up into his arms like she was nothing, pulling on some reserve of strength McKay should have known he possessed. And suddenly they were ready to go, one of the marines even handing McKay his rescued 9mm.

Or almost. "Sir," Henderson spoke up, sounding a little worried as he moved forward through the group, radio in his hands.

Lorne turned to look at him, and went still, as if sensing something was very, very wrong. "What is it, Sergeant?" he asked slowly, obviously not sure he wanted to know.

"I can't raise Colonel Sheppard on his radio."

* * *

"Do you think it worked?" Wheeler asked after a moment silence, and McGee shrugged.

"I hope so," the agent breathed. "Check the jumper's HUD. It should be able to tell you, right?"

Wheeler jumped like he had forgotten all about that, before turning to race for the front of the spacecraft. The HUD flickered on and Wheeler let out a relieved laugh.

"It worked! There's no power on at Olczak's place." He paused, and all the relief left him all too soon. "But something is happening about a mile away. There's lots of Wraith-sized life signs, and an absurd amount of energy being used."

McGee darted up to join him, leaning on the front dash of the jumper. "Isn't that the middle of nowhere?" he asked. Wheeler nodded and grew very, very serious.

"You know the Wraith have done something like this before, right?" the sergeant asked.

"Sort of," McGee answered, straining to remember. "But not across a galaxy. They can't be trying it now… can they?"

"I don't know, it's not exactly my area of expertise." Wheeler shrugged. "But then they had an open area, middle of nowhere." He indicated the spots on the HUD. "And that's certainly an open area in the middle of nowhere."

"So you think the Wraith are starting the message? And then what? Recording it?"

"And using our satellites and whatever power source they have to send it to the Pegasus Galaxy." Wheeler frowned. "Colonel Sheppard needs to hear this." He reached for his radio and switched it on. "Colonel Sheppard, come in?"

There was silence for a moment. And then Lorne's voice came over the radio. "Sergeant, the colonel seems to be unavailable at the moment." And they could all hear the worry over that in the major's voice. "What's the problem?"

Wheeler glanced at McGee. "Sir, it looks like the Wraith are getting ready to send their message. There's a whole bunch of life signs about a mile away in the middle of some field, and they're using a hell of a lot of energy."

There was a pause, and then Lorne swore. "Keep an eye on them, Wheeler. Do not, I repeat, do not go there yourself. They probably have Darts in the area. We'll get back to you. Lorne out."

Wheeler paused as the radio switched off, and then he scowled, putting the device away. "Guess we're sitting here." But he didn't sound happy about it.

McGee had to agree with the sergeant, as he sat down in the co-pilot's seat. Waiting here seemed like a bad move. Who knew how far along the Wraith were in their plan. Their only consolation was that they hadn't been there when they landed the jumper. But who knew how long that would take.

But Wheeler wasn't about to defy orders, so McGee just sighed and prepared to wait some more.

* * *

DiNozzo had never been so nervous in his life.

Not during any time he had been with Baltimore PD. Not during any time he had been Agent Afloat. Hell, not even during the time he had been pretending to be someone else while trying to get to a known murderous arms dealer by falling in love with his daughter.

And it was mostly because this damn P90 was one of the biggest guns he had ever had the opportunity to actually hold and fire.

And he had fired it. A few guards had taken exception to an invisible alien spacecraft landing on the roof only seconds after the power had gone out, and had opened fire as soon as it became visible again. Okay, so the marines had done most of the work, but he swore that shadow had moved unnaturally.

But that didn't matter now, as they made their way through the dark and creepy mansion of Olczak. He was in the middle of the group of marines, but he held the gun like they did, and tried to move silently like they did, and for the most part even achieved it.

He had to admit though, he preferred his sidearm.

They were sweeping through the corridors, trying to find the stairs down to the basement. It would have been helpful if there had been signs, but Olczak wasn't that nice. Still, the marine in front, Captain Atler, seemed to have a good sense of direction, and he took them around the next right.

And ducked back around as the heavy sounds of gunshot fire boomed down the corridor he had been about to take them down.

"We've got company," Atler told them dryly, checking the ammo on his P90 without looking.

"How many?" Graham asked, moving forward from where he had been looking after their tail.

"Ten," Atler responded with a shrug. "But they were pretty fast with their shot."

Graham nodded. "I'm guessing we have to go that way?"

Atler nodded, and, without even having discussed their plan, Brown and Spencer dashed forward, moving round the corner and opening fire without a moment's warning.

At the same the same time, Graham, Holden and Reynolds dashed across the opening, firing as well, all while DiNozzo could only watch and wonder what the hell was going on.

Gibbs, on the other hand, seemed to know exactly what was happening, and more, he knew Tony had no idea. Apparently having reverted back to his own marine days, he grabbed DiNozzo by the collar and pulled him forward, towards the corner, spinning him around before pulling his down.

"Watch their backs," Gibbs ordered over the noise of the automatic firing, and DiNozzo nodded. He knew how to do that, this; he did it all the time with NCIS, just this time he had a bigger gun. He sat down on one knee, lined his eye up with the P90's aim and tried to ignore the sounds going on behind him. By his side, Gibbs watched the other end of the corridor they were in.

It seemed to go on forever. The Atlanteans would fire, then duck back behind cover while machine guns, shot guns and even the odd rifle would come from the other corridor, pounding into the back wall with alarming impact, neatly destroying the painting hanging there. And then the Atlanteans would turn back around the corner and continue firing.

DiNozzo heard it all, but he kept his eyes on the corridor. Which was why he spotted the guards coming from the other direction almost instantly.

His heart skipped a few beats as he recognised the weapons in their hands, the intent in the way they moved. He shifted slightly, trying to get against the wall, and took a deep breath.

"Uh, guys…"

He had to open fire, and made his finger press the trigger even as Atler and Spencer turned around as well.

The noise, this close to the P90, was unbelievable, and DiNozzo easily missed his first few targets just from shock. But then his heart settled, his nerves calmed, and he hitched the P90 up closer to his shoulder, not thinking about what he was doing, just why. He wasn't a soldier, had never pretended to be, but he was loyal. If this was going to save the world AND get Ziva back, he could do this.

But it didn't seem to be going well. He was hitting his targets, and the two men firing with him were hitting theirs, but the line of guards seemed to be never ending. How much fodder would Olczak send against them? Surely the man had a heart for his men, at least.

Suddenly one of them men cried out, and DiNozzo felt blood spray against the back of his head. He stopped firing almost instantly, and turned, just in time to see Spencer fall to the ground, bleeding from his shoulder.

Without even thinking, DiNozzo moved to cover him, surprised he hadn't been hit himself, but not thinking about it at all, still refusing to think about anything but why. But the guards were getting closer, and there didn't seem to be any less of them, and this was not going well.

And then he ran dry.

He swore, ducking down, trying to reduce any possible target area as he fumbled in his vest for the spare magazine, wondering hurriedly if he should have taken out the spent one first. Without a third man shooting at them, the Poles advanced suddenly and quickly, all but running up the hall even as Atler tried singlehandedly to force them back, and DiNozzo rushed to replace his empty magazine, feeling the pressure building.

He slammed the new magazine into place and looked up, nerves at breaking point, just to find one of the guards only five feet from him. He jerked the P90 up, flinching even as he pulled on the trigger.

The sounds of four more P90s suddenly joined in with his firing, and at first, Tony didn't know what it was. He looked around as the man went down, filled with bullet holes, more than DiNozzo knew he could have caused.

And then, down the other end of the corridor, complete with flashlights, he saw them, heaved a sigh of relief as the rest of the guards went down, and suddenly the house was quiet as well as dark.

DiNozzo stood up on jerky legs, taking deep breaths and managing not to jump when Gibbs clapped a hand on his shoulder. Sure, he had been in shootouts before, but never one quite like this. Never so loud, or so prolonged, or so obviously deadly.

But he ignored that, following Gibbs as they met up with the other Atlantis personnel, and, to his immense relief Ziva.

He didn't say a word though, because only a second after he spotted Ziva, he spotted the others, Sheppard's team. And they didn't look good.

Ronon, bleeding slowly from his shoulder, but apparently unaware of it, was carrying Teyla, who was deathly pale underneath all the bruises. McKay was managing, somehow, to walk on his own, but he looked much thinner, pale as well, and exhausted, even as he let the aim of a 9mm drop from the downed guards.

"Man, I never thought I'd be so glad to see you guys," McKay breathed as they all stopped, addressing NCIS.

DiNozzo barely heard him, completely gobsmacked that these people – or McKay and Ronon at least – were even conscious, let alone walking and talking. "Can't you guys get beamed to Atlantis, or something" he demanded. "I mean, that whole Wraith jamming thing should have been stopped, yeah?" He couldn't understand what they were still doing in this house.

McKay rolled his eyes, proving that he was in there somewhere. "No, DiNozzo. Trust me, I would have thought about that before I climbed all those stairs. No, the Wraith technology, like Ancient, doesn't work on electricity or anything that's going to be interrupted by an EMP."

"But he's right," Lorne told them, moving forward after having made sure his men were okay. "You guys need to head to the jumper on the roof. The Daedalus is in orbit, as soon as you get clear, you get them to beam you to Atlantis."

To DiNozzo's surprise, neither conscious team member argued, but then again, judging by the worried looks they kept on giving Teyla, he probably shouldn't have been.

Lorne continued handing out orders. "Atler, take them, and Spencer to the jumper. Brown, Holden you too. Captain Reynolds, I want your team with them. You too DiNozzo, Gibbs.

"Not a chance," both men responded instantly, before Gibbs scowled at his own team member and continued. "DiNozzo's going, Major, but I'm coming."

"Boss," DiNozzo began to argue, not sure whether to feel rejected or relieved. "I can do this."

"I know, DiNozzo, but I need you to go with Ziva."

Lousy excuse, but Tony let it go with a scowl and a sharp nod. Lorne did the same thing.

"Fine, Gibbs, you're in. Graham and Broden, you're with me and my team as well."

"You're going to find Sheppard, right?" McKay demanded, and DiNozzo wanted to know if the scientist was aware he was swaying. "Because no one can get him on his radio still, and that is not a good sign."

Lorne nodded with some annoyance. "No, we're just going to take a stroll around Olczak's house, get some decorating tips." He scowled at the scientist before clicking his radio. "Wheeler, sit tight until Jumper 2 contacts you, then fly guard. In the meantime, contact Daedalus, see if they can't have someone check out the Wraith." He nodded at everyone, and then checked his ammo. "Okay, everyone, let's move."

* * *

With another half scream of frustration, Sheppard kicked at the door again, and again earned himself only a sore foot. Behind him, Olczak chuckled, but otherwise remained silent.

John growled again, unable to believe he had been so stupid. Of course this room would lock the instant the power went out. He should have realised it the moment Olczak had to use a pin to open the door. Stupid, stupid, stupid!

Wanting to scream his head off, he instead tapped his radio again, a little harder than he probably had to, but once more he got nothing.

"Lorne!" Damn it. "Graham, come in! God damn it!"

He kicked at the door again, and then groaned as the impact sent shivers through his ribs, nearly doubling over even as Olczak laughed again.

"Shut the hell up!" Sheppard snapped, spinning on the spot to face the Pole where he was sitting in the corner nursing a sore head.

"You should have realised by now, Sheppard," the Pole told him, despite the warning. "This room is blocked. Radio transmissions cannot get through these walls anymore than you can kick your way through that door."

"I said shut the hell up," Sheppard growled. "You have no right to talk to me!"

"Right?" Olczak demanded, and Sheppard could all but hear him grinning. "No, probably not. But it is so much fun."

John ignored him, spinning back to the door, and slamming a fist down on it. It didn't even shake. Stupid, stupid, stupid!

He backed away, taking a few deep breaths. All he had to do was wait. His team would find him when they realised they couldn't contact him. And by that stage they would have taken out Olczak's men, would have secured the building, stopped the Wraith… and he would just be the schmuck who got himself locked in a room. He could live with that, if his team was still rescued. He turned around, making sure he still had a hold of a gun. He should be watching Olczak. The man had to be up to something, he was far too confident and calm.

"Why are you working with the Wraith?" Sheppard demanded of the dark area he was pretty sure Olczak was sitting in. "Have you seen them feed? Have you seen what they're capable of?"

"I have," Olczak responded without emotion. "And it means nothing to me. There are some weak people on this planet who are worth nothing more than cattle. With the Wraith's help, we will purge them."

"So you're Hitler now?" John scowled. "No, that isn't you, Olczak. What's the real reason?"

Olczak chuckled. "You were not lying, Sheppard. You really do know me."

"Damn straight I do," he muttered, turning back to the door. There had to be a way through. What would McKay do? "I've had practice judging the Wraith. One douchebag gangster isn't much trouble reading."

Olczak just laughed again. "Is that so? You are not getting through that door, Sheppard. Not until my men blast through it."

"We'll see," John told him. What _would_ McKay do? What could he do? Without power… "So, is it money? Do you think they'll make you rich?"

"They will," Olczak told him. "The very threat of them will be enough."

"And when the rest of the Wraith get here?" Sheppard asked him. "Do you really think they'll treat you as equals? Because the Wraith don't have equals. They have slaves and food."

"The rest of the Wraith will not get here," Olczak told him with a shrug. Or that was how Sheppard pictured it. Damn, this room was dark.

"And why do you say that?" Sheppard asked, frowning as he turned back. This whole time the man had been talking about the rest.

Olczak snorted. "I am well aware that Dr McKay did not do as the Wraith asked. When they try to send the message via the satellites, it will not work."

Of course McKay hadn't. "He rigged it, and you let him."

"Rigged?" the Pole asked, twisting his mouth as if it were a new word. Which it probably was. "Yes. And when the Wraith are scratching their heads with confusion, we will pounce."

"That is… the most stupid thing I have ever heard," Sheppard decided with a nod. He couldn't help but laugh. "Olczak, you are a complete idiot. The Wraith are smart, hell, maybe even smarter than McKay. They'll fix it, and they'll kill you painfully for even thinking about turning on them."

Olczak shrugged. "We will see, Sheppard." There was a pause. "I would step away from the door now, Colonel."

"And why is that?" he asked, crossing his arms.

It all happened so fast that Sheppard didn't even know what hit him. One second he was standing a few feet in front of the door, the next his ears were ringing, light was flooding the room, and he was flying forward, coming off the floor, some kind of explosion shaking his entire body as he was thrown forward about eight feet. He came crashing to the floor, dazed as he rolled to a stop on his back, the gun ripped from his hands, his breathing loud in his ears, the dozen or so boots pounding on the floor just background noise to the ringing.

He tried to get up, tried to get his arms underneath him, but all he could do was blink as someone came to stand over him, and he looked up into the smirking face of Olczak.

"Because, Sheppard," the man told him, his voice distorted and too deep. "My men are coming in, and that door is also soundproof."

* * *

Well, that can't be good... um, sorry, didn't mean to leave it for the weekend like this... BYE!


	19. Chapter 19

**Author's Note:** Heya guys, I'm back, and once again, I'm sorry! If it's any consolation, my mum made me clean my room…

But here's the next chapter! And thanks again to everyone who's reviewed, over 100 now, actually, it was over 100 last chapter, but in my rush to tell everyone I was going away, I forgot to mention how completely awesome 100 reviews are!

* * *

**Chapter 19**

Two men hauled Sheppard to his knees, and he was still too dazed to fight back as they held on tight to his arms and shoulders. Olczak shrugged his shoulders, the bruise forming on the side of his face stark in the light of the torches.

And then the gangster lashed out, slamming a fist hard into Sheppard's jaw, on the right. And then he changed hands, swinging in from the left and snapping John's head to the side.

Trying to regain his senses, John shook his head and stared up at the man. "Come on. I only hit you once!"

"Perhaps I do not like even," the man snapped back, with another hard right. Then he snatched the radio from John's ear before swinging again, slamming hard. Sheppard felt something crack, blood welling up in his mouth, and he spat it out, trying to hit Olczak with the mess. It didn't work, and the gob just landed on the ground.

To his surprise, Olczak studied closely with a toe, before growling, and letting swing again. Sheppard couldn't avoid it, though he tried, and he felt his jaw cracking. God, he was going to be sore for a long time. Olczak punched him again, and again Sheppard spat the blood out, feeling the chip from his teeth slid out between his lips. And as Olczak nodded at the pile with gross satisfaction, Sheppard realised that was what he had been after all along.

"Idiot," Sheppard snapped around his aching jaw, trying to get rid of some of the aches from it. "It wasn't working anymore!"

"I cannot be too careful," the man told him with a glare, as he crushed the device beneath his foot.

"Could have just asked, that's all I'm saying." Sheppard worked his jaw some more and then shook his head again. "So, what now?"

"Now, we are going to find the Wraith," Olczak snapped. "You can be yet another distraction as we get them."

The two men hauled him to his feet. "That's probably not a good idea," Sheppard told him. "I have a habit of escaping every time I get near a Wraith."

Olczak slammed a fist into his gut, and Sheppard doubled over, not looking forward to waking up in the morning. The Pole didn't seem to care though, just grabbing John's hair and jerking him upright.

"Behave, Sheppard," the man growled. "I would not want to hand the Wraith broken goods."

Sheppard snorted. "This is about as behaved as I get," he snapped, wondering where his team was. Surely they would have heard the explosion. He didn't really fancy going to see the Wraith. "Deal with it!"

Olczak scowled at him, and then stepped back. "We leave now, Sheppard. Your friends will not find us. Zwiąż mu ręce!"

One of the men grabbed his hands and bound them roughly behind his back. Sheppard grunted, but refused to complain, even as the same man shoved him forward and out of the room.

* * *

Gibbs followed Lorne, trying to remember everything from his days in the Corps, looking every way he could while the two men behind him did the same thing. They were all on edge, all had a bad feeling about this.

Mostly because they had all heard the explosion. It hadn't made them pause. If anything it had made them move faster. As much as they could, anyway. They kept coming across teams of guards, and dealing with them was taking much longer than they liked.

Suddenly Lorne's fist came up, signalling a halt. Gibbs stopped instantly, looking around to see what had the major's back up. It looked to be a door, blasted off its hinges and extremely heavy looking.

Slowly Lorne inched forwards, flashlight sweeping the area. The house was silent, and felt more silent than it actually was, because Gibbs knew that room was empty, and Olczak was long gone. And the man had no doubt taken Sheppard with him.

Following Lorne around the corner into the room, P90 up, he amended that to, hopefully with Sheppard. He didn't want to consider the alternatives that kept on popping up in his head.

He entered the room and couldn't help but raise an eyebrow, impressed. The room was trashed, with several dead or unconscious people littering the ground. All of them Olczak's men.

"Clear!" Lorne called, summoning the other three men while he shook his head and turned to Gibbs. "This had to have been where the colonel was."

Gibbs was inclined to agree, doubting the guards would have killed each other. Though how Sheppard had managed to take out the five of them, in the dark, was beyond him.

He looked around, taking in the blank screens, one of them cracked, blood all over the floor, while the other three entered the room, one taking a good look at the door.

"This room must have been shielded," Walker muttered, sweeping his flashlight along the edges of the door. "And someone blew it up from outside."

"So how did the EMP get through?" Lorne demanded, coming to a halt in the centre. Walker just shrugged.

"I don't think an EMP cares about walls, sir. Even shielded ones."

Graham snorted. "Maybe the door was open then."

Lorne rolled his eyes. "Well, the colonel's not here now." He began to move forward. "So where would they -."

He broke off as he stepped on something that crackled under his foot. While Lorne took a step back, all of them spun to see what had made a sound, their lights illuminating a small pile of blood red and something. It was too small for Gibbs to make out over the distance, but Lorne ducked down. "Damn it. It's Sheppard's chip thing. That he was using to communicate with McGee. And this looks like his radio."

"So Olczak definitely has him," Gibbs surmised. "Where would they be heading?"

There was a moment of silence. "Maybe the Wraith," Lorne offered with a shrug. "Wheeler said they were out in a field a mile or so from here."

"Then they'd need transport," Gibbs agreed with a nod. "So where's the garage in this place?"

Lorne shook his head, tapping his radio. "We'll never get there in time. Wheeler, you can't wait for Jumper 2 anymore."

* * *

The rooftop was almost silent as DiNozzo followed three of the marines out into the open, P90 up – and re-loaded – and sweeping the area, looking for any sign of any movement. Ziva was right behind him, helping Captain Dawson who seemed to be suffering the effects of a nasty concussion. Behind her was Ronon, still carrying Teyla, but beginning to lag. Despite their initial energy, both Ronon and McKay were beginning to show signs of their prolonged captivity.

Behind them were the last four marines, Henderson half-carrying the still bleeding Spencer while Reynolds and Bradleys kept their eyes, ears and guns alert.

Atler was in the lead, and he moved around, flashlight slowly illuminating the empty rooftop, the various waist high crates, the silvery Jumper parked unobtrusively in a corner…

DiNozzo's attention snapped back to the Jumper – the one they had left invisible – and everything happened at once.

Atler cried out for everyone to take cover, but DiNozzo was already moving for the nearest crate, taking the time only to grab Ziva by her uniform and pulling her and Dawson down with him. The sharp sounds of machine gun fire ruined the silence at the same time, and everyone ducked for the nearest shelter as bullets sprayed the open space of the rooftop. Some of them weren't fast enough: DiNozzo couldn't help but flinch as, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Atler jerk with the impact of a bullet, falling to the ground.

"Give me your sidearm," Ziva hissed as she ducked down beside him, distracting him from the shock, the Mossad officer not even flinching with the sounds of the machine gun fire hitting the crate they were using as a shield. DiNozzo passed her the 9mm as he took a quick look around for the rest of the Atlantis team. He found them, behind the nearest crate, Ronon laying Teyla down gently before scuttling to the side of the crate. Tony turned back to Ziva, sort of appeased knowing they were at least behind cover. Of course, if they couldn't get out of this fire…

"Ready?" he asked, feeling his gut roil as he thought about what had happened to Atler, shouting at Ziva to be heard over the sounds of the firing and the firing back. She nodded determinedly back, and they both rose to their knees, searching out the enemy firing on them.

He spotted them quickly, the roof now illuminated by lights from the open hatch of the jumper, and the flashlights of a dozen or so torches. He pulled on the trigger, aiming for chest height, and really hoping none of his people stood up in the line of fire.

The guard went down, and another fell next to him, courtesy of Ziva's sharpshooting with the 9mm. But DiNozzo had seen others down. Not just Olczak's men. Those soft sounds in the background hadn't just been bullets hitting their attackers, and this last-minute assault when they were so close to bringing the Atlantis team home stirred the anger up inside as he forced the shock and the sorrow away. These people didn't deserve to die.

With a half-growl, half-yell, he got to his knees again, zeroed in on another bad guy and pulled the trigger as hard as he could. Not that that would make the bullets go any faster or harder, but it was the thought that counted.

Ziva was up beside him, and suddenly more heavy gunshots from his right, Ronon moving forward like bullets couldn't touch him, an angry snarl on his face, McKay standing over Teyla's unconscious body, pulling shots on his own borrowed sidearm. To the sides and slightly in front, the other marines, Henderson, Brown, Holden, Reynolds, all of them with a look of absolute hatred on their shadowed faces, grief invisible in their eyes. And DiNozzo could only sympathise, as he got to his knees as well, moving out from behind the crate, moving forward, pushing the guards back, towards the edge of the roof. They never reached it, the last falling three feet from the raised side, and suddenly, within a minute of the entire exchange beginning, the rooftop was quiet.

Or mostly quiet. Spencer was still somewhere, biting back groans. Someone else was breathing harshly, unevenly. The noises didn't seem to bother the marines, or if it did, they didn't show it. Like the well trained soldiers they were, they split silently, each moving towards one of their men on the ground. Reynolds was already coming back from the Jumper, shaking his head.

"Hunt and Wade are dead," he told everyone quietly. DiNozzo, not even a part of the Atlantis team, felt the blow himself, and looked down at his feet.

The harsh breathing suddenly stopped. "So's Bradleys," Henderson told them as a very pale McKay came forward to join DiNozzo, Ronon right behind him with Teyla back in his arms. Looking around for Ziva, Tony instead found Brown leaning over the still body of Atler, the captain's eyes wide open, blood running from one corner of his mouth. Brown didn't have to say a word.

"We need to get back to Atlantis," Reynolds sighed, hoisting his P90. "Our people need medical help… we'll come back for the bodies."

Brown looked ready to argue, but he didn't, just closing the dead captain's eyes and standing upright, being the good marine. Instead it was Henderson who spoke up. "We've got a problem, Captain," the sergeant told him, looking around. "All our ATAs are dead… and I don't know if the doc's up to flying a jumper right now."

"Doesn't matter," McKay interrupted, breathing heavily. DiNozzo began to get a bad feeling in his gut. Well, a worse one. "We have one other ATA positive here."

"Who?" Reynolds demanded in a drawl, obviously thinking he wasn't going to like the answer. DiNozzo didn't really either, and he was the one who raised his hand with a defeated answer.

"Me."

Reynolds shared a look with Henderson, before looking back. "You got any experience Agent DiNozzo."

"About half an hour," McKay answered for him. "But if I help as much as I can," and the way he sounded, it didn't sound like that was going to be enough. "He can fly us to Daedalus. Or close enough for them to beam a real pilot onto the Jumper to dock it."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," DiNozzo muttered, shaking his head.

Reynolds, on the other hand, shrugged. "Well, we have no other option." He turned back to the jumper, leading the way on board. "Agent DiNozzo, fly us out of here."

* * *

"Copied, sir," Wheeler answered Lorne's orders, sitting down in the pilot seat, full of confidence. "Wheeler out."

McGee looked at the radio like it had suddenly grown horns as Wheeler powered the jumper up.

"He wants us to do what?"

"Sit down and buckle in," Wheeler answered, knowing full well that wasn't what Lorne had asked them to do. Or ordered rather.

But McGee obeyed the sergeant, not sure why when the inertial dampeners should have stopped all sensation of movement. Maybe it was a pilot thing.

"I thought that other Jumper was doing all this kind of stuff?" McGee asked slowly. Wheeler just shook his head.

"It's still en route. And too far away. We need to get out there now, and do what we can."

"What does he think one ship can do now that it couldn't ten minutes ago?" McGee demanded as Wheeler flicked switches the agent hadn't even begun to understand.

Wheeler finally scowled at him. "We're not going to attack them, Agent McGee. We're just keeping an eye on them. Finding Sheppard."

The jumper lifted off, and McGee took a deep breath. "Can the HUD bring up the convoy? And shouldn't it be able to pick up Sheppard's transmitter?"

Wheeler shook his head as he brought the HUD up. "We haven't had time to get Sheppard a new transmitter. He'll just be another dot out there. But that's the convoy," he added, pointing at a line of groups of four dots, three groups in total, snaking their way across the screen. "And Sheppard has to be one of them."

"So what do we do now?" McGee asked, peering closer as if that would give him an answer. Wheeler just shrugged.

"Follow them, stay cloaked, and hope we can catch a sight of the colonel." He sighed. "Not much more we can do. Like you said, we're one jumper, and we have no idea how many Darts the Wraith managed to salvage before we blew up their ship." He reached forward for the radio. "Major Lorne, this is Wheeler, come in."

"Sergeant, you spotted the colonel?"

"We've got the convoy, sir," Wheeler answered, sharing a look with McGee. "You were right, they're heading towards the Wraith."

"Can you see how many Wraith are out there?" Lorne asked. "And what they're doing?"

"Can't see what they're doing except that it's still using a lot of power, and using more every minute." Wheeler paused frowning. "There seems to be eight Wraith now, most seem to have disappeared, but the energy use could be hiding some of them. The backup Jumper's still five minutes away." He paused again. "We could go see what they're doing, but it would mean we would have to leave the convoy behind." And Sheppard.

This time it was Lorne who paused. "Do it, Wheeler. But stay as high as you can. And report back in five minutes."

Lorne left the comm, but almost instantly another voice came over it. "Sergeant Wheeler, this is Captain Reynolds. I'm guessing you're not flying with Jumper Two back to Daedalus."

"Not yet, sir," Wheeler answered as the jumper shot forward, covering the three-quarters of a mile in a heartbeat. McGee leaned forward in his seat to glance out at the Wraith on the ground, counting them, trying to see what they were doing. "But we'll be there -."

He cut off as the HUD beeped. McGee snapped his head back from watching the Wraith – eight, like Wheeler had said – to look at the display, and the flashing signals that seemed to be zoning in on them. Both of them ignored Reynolds' worried voice as the pilot of Jumper One figured out what was going on.

Wheeler's jaw dropped. "That's not possible," he breathed, before pulling hard on the controls and forcing the jumper into a steep climb, up into the clouds.

"What is it?" McGee demanded, not understanding. Not sure he really wanted to.

Wheeler didn't look at him, too focused instead on the screen and the three dots getting closer to them. "Darts," he spat through gritted teeth. "And somehow they've spotted us. Don't know how." He shook his head grimly and yanked the controls to the right, before muttering, "Guess we know where those extra Wraith went, huh?"

McGee swallowed, wondering how the hell he had gotten into this – this being a possible battle between alien spacecraft. "Zelenka said the Hive was super-powered or something, yeah?" Wheeler nodded. "And that Hives are all interconnected internally, right?" Again, a nod. "Maybe the use of the ZPM changed the Darts as well. Made them more powerful. It would explain why they're able to use so much power even though the rest of the island seems unaffected. I mean, they're doing whatever they're doing, they're able to jam beaming…"

Wheeler was silent for a moment. And then he turned to face McGee, his face white. "That's a massive problem." He reached forward for the radio again.

A shudder ran through the Jumper, and Wheeler cursed, leaning back into his seat and yanking the controls hard to the left. McGee watched a pointy ship fly by and swallowed.

"Let me guess. That's a Dart?"

"Yeah," Wheeler grunted out. "I'm gunna have to decloak."

"You're what?" McGee demanded, spinning in his chair, horrified at the very idea. "But… wouldn't that mean they'll be able to see us."

Another shudder hit the ship, and the HUD flashed. Wheeler gave him a dirty look. "Well, obviously they can see us anyway, McGee!" the sergeant snapped as he sent the Jumper into a steep dive. McGee grabbed onto the dash even though there was no sensation of movement. "And if we decloak, we can shoot!"

Two bright lights shot away from the Jumper, and the HUD followed their movements. Wheeler didn't, pulling out the dive and starting for another Dart as the one he had aimed at exploded upon impact with the drones.

McGee swallowed. "Okay… that's bett-."

The HUD beeped and cut him off, and Wheeler groaned as another three dots, all representing Darts flashed up on the display. The two men were silent for a moment, and then Wheeler pulled hard on the controls, sending the Jumper to the left quickly enough that the next shudder that ran through the Jumper was smaller. A glancing blow, obviously.

McGee shook his head and stared at the screen as Wheeler continued to do his best to outmanoeuvre the five Darts trying to chase them down. "This isn't working."

Wheeler growled. "Well, if you have a better idea, now would be the time, Agent McGee!"

Timothy paused, and then nodded. "Actually… I do." He leaned forward and touched the radio, so he could communicate instead of just being heard. "But Jumper Two, we might need some help."

The reply was instant, and even more surprising, it was in DiNozzo's voice. "We're already on our way, probie."


	20. Chapter 20

**Author's Note:** By the time I got to here, I was having so much trouble. I had introduced so many characters, that had split up, joined up, or gone off on their own at various and many stages, that finding them all, and keeping track of their movements… well, let me tell you, I would be a sucky general.

And sorry, but this chapter is kinda short...

* * *

**Chapter 20**

DiNozzo eased the Jumper off the roof, heart racing slightly, even as McKay – in the co-pilot's seat and starting to shake, no doubt from sheer exhaustion – nodded encouragingly. "Good, DiNozzo. See, easy as pie."

"Don't start thinking about pie just yet," Ronon called from the back with a slight growl. McKay ignored him besides a small crinkle of his eyes. DiNozzo looked away and decided to focus on flying and not hitting anything.

Standing over his shoulder, Reynolds touched the radio, and voices sprang to life on it. "-Wraith but the energy use could be hiding some of them. The backup Jumper's still five minutes away." It was Wheeler's voice. "We could go see what they're doing, but it would mean we would have to leave the convoy behind."

DiNozzo shared a curious look with McKay who shrugged, and then winced. But before anyone on Jumper Two could say anything, Lorne responded to Wheeler.

"Do it, Wheeler. But stay as high as you can. And report back in five minutes."

Behind him, Reynolds made a sound in the back of his throat, as Jumper Two started to leave Bornholm behind, before jumping into the radio conversation. "Sergeant Wheeler, this is Captain Reynolds. I'm guessing you're not flying with Jumper Two back to Daedalus."

DiNozzo tried to concentrate on both things at once – flying them all to safety and focusing on the conversation. It was a lot harder than it should have been, especially when McKay started glaring at him.

"Not yet, sir," Wheeler answered, sounding a bit guilty. "But we'll be there-."

He cut off, and DiNozzo's heart beat an extra time. Reynolds leaned forward, equally as concerned, judging by the frown on his face. "Sergeant, you still there?" He paused, waiting for the answer. "Sergeant!"

"That's not possible," Wheeler suddenly breathed, and, desperate to know what was going on, Tony slowed the Jumper right down and brought the HUD up. Almost instantly McKay's jaw dropped.

"How the hell…"

"What is it?" McGee was the one who asked, via the radio, but McKay didn't seem to notice no one on the jumper had said a word, and answered anyway.

"The Darts… they've… they're targeting the jumper. The cloaked jumper."

"How the hell can they do that?" Ronon demanded with a little snap from the rear section. He hadn't left Teyla's side, and didn't look like he was planning on changing that any time soon.

"I don't…" He paused. "The ZPM. Has to be the answer."

The radio told them McGee thought the same thing, which was enough for DiNozzo. He turned hard on the controls and began flying back towards Bornholm.

"What are you doing?" McKay demanded, only a heartbeat before Reynolds. Tony shook his head, and glanced back at everyone, hoping he wasn't about to have a mutiny on his hands.

"I'm going back to help."

"You can't do that!" Reynolds snapped, beating Rodney to it this time. Although once he actually glanced at the scientist's face, he realised McKay probably wouldn't have argued anyway.

"Yes, I can," DiNozzo muttered, turning his sight back to in front of him. "McGee's in trouble, and I'm not about to let your problem get him killed."

That shut the fuming captain up, and everyone else at the same time, leaving an uncomfortable silence that made Tony want to squirm.

"What about our injured?" McKay asked softly, breaking the quiet.

Tony glanced back, taking in the still unconscious Teyla, Dawson with his bruised face, Spencer struggling to breath. And – with the obvious exception of Teyla – they stared back, as determinedly as they were able, and nodded. And DiNozzo knew Teyla would back him up as well. The Atlantis team were all suicidal heroes, and for once Tony thanked them for it.

"I don't think they'd mind," he answered just as softly as he turned back to the HUD and watched Bornholm grow quickly in the screen. McKay nodded.

"Okay then, if we're doing this, you need to decloak."

"I do?" DiNozzo asked, glancing quickly away from the screen.

"Yes," McKay answered patiently. "Because you can't shoot without decloaking. Are you sure you can do this, DiNozzo? Cause it's all well and good playing the hero – until you get yourself killed because you don't realise what you're getting yourself into."

The words sounded odd in McKay's tired, calm voice, but DiNozzo didn't get a chance to do more than think that, because McGee's voice came back over the radio.

"But Jumper Two, we might need some help."

Not sure what he had missed, even with the HUD displaying it all, DiNozzo nodded strongly, more at McKay – and Reynolds hovering over his shoulder – than to the agent who couldn't even see him. "We're already on our way probie."

There was a pause. "Tony, why did they let you on the radio?"

DiNozzo scowled. "Cause I'm flying the damn ship, McGee!" He zoomed over the mansion, over a group of Jeeps, before the Wraith came into view. Almost immediately the HUD flashed, and a few dots began to fly his way. He quickly squashed the nerves in his stomach, the feeling that he was in way, way, way over his head. "Now what's this damn plan of yours?"

"Well, we need a distraction…"

* * *

Sheppard watched with a grin as outside in the dark sky, a Jumper decloaked as it zoomed overhead. The jaws of the guards dropped, and John's grin widened as Olczak, for the first time, lost some semblance of confidence, especially as it fired two drone weapons at the Wraith a hundred or so metres away.

They regained some when the drones were just absorbed into some kind of shield, killing the sudden – and short – hope that had sprung to life inside Sheppard's stomach. Then again, the failure of the weapons didn't exactly make the Poles party.

"Hamuj!" the Pole shouted, and the Jeeps skidded to a halt, turning to the side and kicking up dirt. The others behind had to swerve to avoid, but Sheppard wasn't watching them his eyes instead on the Wraith one hundred metres away – from what he could see, eight of them surrounding some kind of blue, glowing machine. Whatever they were doing, it didn't look good, and John lost his grin.

A door slammed open, and John looked around, wondering what was going on, even as a second Jumper flew overhead: looked like the cavalry was here.

Just in time, too, he guessed as one of Olczak's henchmen opened the door and pulled the colonel from the Jeep, grabbing a bunch of his shirt and yanking him out of the car. Not expecting it, Sheppard fell out, hitting his shoulder on the hard ground and swearing as pain flared up in it. He could feel the stitches from the bullet wound break open – again – and tried to ignore the wet sensation on his shirt.

He rolled over, aided only slightly by a booted toe, and he looked up into Olczak's glaring face.

"What are they?" the gangster demanded, spit flying in outrage, as he pointed at the Jumper chasing a Dart. Several of the big bad guys flinched as mentioned Jumper shot drones at the Dart, which exploded instantly. Not that it helped, John realised, as a second Dart fired at the Jumper, hitting it, and making it jerk in midair. Never a good sign, but John didn't want the men around him to know that. He grinned again.

"What, the Jumpers?" he asked, looking up at the spacecraft. He cocked his head. "Don't tell me the Wraith didn't tell you about those? It's not like them to keep things from people."

Olczak growled and gave him a vicious kick for retribution, before turning to his men and ordering them in Polish. Four of them raced for the abandoned Jeeps and grabbed machine guns. John snorted.

"That's not going to do much."

Olczak ignored him as two more of his men hauled Sheppard to his feet and began dragging him over towards the Wraith. They didn't get very far though. Apparently someone in one of the Jumpers had spotted him, because drones slammed into the ground half way between them and the Wraith, and the impact sent everyone flying backwards, dirt showering all over them as they landed in a heap.

Used to explosions by now – and undecided as to whether that was a good thing or not – Sheppard recovered first, picking himself up off the ground with some difficulty, shaking his head to dislodge all the dirt from his hair. But he didn't wait around – his hair could stay dirty. He stumbled to his feet and ran back the way they had come.

He didn't get very far. Apparently one of the guards was just as used to explosions, and the man tackled before Sheppard had run ten feet, driving him into the ground and driving all the air from his lungs. Gasping for breath, Sheppard let himself be dragged to his feet again, as Olczak waved all his men back to the safety of the Jeeps. John ran with them, not that he had much choice about it. Or about being thrown into the side of the Jeep once they reached it. Getting sick of being hit, he fell to the ground, trying to catch his breath, and stop the spinning.

He guessed that was the reason he never saw the man reaching into one of the Jeeps again. He shook his head, managing to haul his beaten body to a sitting position against the car, and looked up at the men looming over him, examining them all trying to decide just how he was going to get away so…

His gut dropped and his heart stopped as he spotted the guard backing up out of the Jeep, his hands steady on the long weapon he pulled out after him. And as John's brain tried desperately to process, he looked up at the Jumper, seemingly in slow motion as it flew towards them, obviously intent on the Wraith who were still focused on their glowing telephone to the Pegasus Galaxy.

"No."

And the Pole turned to look at it as well, aiming the rocket launcher at the Jumper.

Everything still in slow motion, Sheppard reacted. There were at least three guards aiming machine guns at him, but he forgot about them. He lashed out with one foot, and it landed squarely in the groin of the man closest to him. That man went down and the others all turned to see what was happening, including the one with the rocket launcher.

Olczak saw what was happening, saw what Sheppard intended. He scowled, even as Sheppard launched himself to his feet.

"Zatrzymać go! Już!" the gangster shouted, and two guards grabbed Sheppard's arms, stopping him from running forward. And the man with the rocket launcher aimed at the Jumper again.

John wasn't about to let anything happen to his people though. Summoning all his strength, he slammed his foot down on the man to his right, and then swung his left elbow the other way, using the surprise and the momentum to slip out of their grasp. Not even pausing to gloat, he raced forward, dodging the only guard who was fast enough to grab at him, keeping the rocket launcher in his sights even as the man pulled on the trigger…

He leapt the last few feet, crashing into the guard, sending them both sprawling to the ground even as the missile left the launcher. And as he rolled over – giving the man a knee for good measure – his eyes latched onto the missile as it headed into the air…

And straight for the Jumper.

He hadn't done enough, and his heart leapt into his throat as the missile clipped the Jumper, knocking the Ancient spacecraft sideways in the air before it began diving from only a hundred feet in the air.

* * *

"At least we know Sheppard's alive," McGee muttered as Wheeler got off the radio, having let Lorne know about the survival of their CO. "Can't believe we almost droned him."

"Are you sure about this?" Wheeler asked, ignoring the comment as McGee grabbed studied the HUD, studied the energy readings on the display with a heavy frown, eyes flitting all over the screen. "McGee! Are you sure about this?"

"Of course I am," he answered absently, concentrating hard on the HUD. Where, where, where? Where would they have it? It had to be giving off energy readings. But the same one, the same type? No, it wouldn't be. "It's the major impediment to everything."

"I was asking if you were sure you could find it," Wheeler answered dryly. "It seems to be taking you a while and all the while -." He cut off into a grimace as the Jumper shuddered again, and the sergeant's hands tightened even more on the controls. "All the while, those hits are getting closer."

"I know, I know," McGee told him, feeling the pressure even without the pilot's tense words. "But if we hit the wrong thing… I don't know. I don't know anything about Wraith technology, and I don't want to make things -." There, he realised, recognising the readings. Sort of. And it was far enough away that it wouldn't interfere with their plan to get a message to Pegasus. "There," he told Wheeler, pointing at a signal on the HUD, maybe thirty feet from the Wraith's main energy signal. "That's it!"

"How do you know?" Wheeler asked slowly. But he still turned the Jumper in the direction McGee pointed.

The agent shrugged. "Zelenka showed me some things when I was on Atlantis four months ago."

"Showed you some things when you were on Atlantis. Four months ago." Wheeler shrugged. "Okay. If you're sure. One Wraith jamming signal going -."

The HUD beeped at them, and the screen of energy readings disappeared to show a flashing dot coming for them. And coming for them fast.

"What the hell?"

It was all either of them got to say before the Jumper slammed sideways – no gentle shudder this time, but a heavy crunch in the rear of the ship, flying sparks and whiplash as McGee flew into Wheeler's chair, and Wheeler flew into the side of the spacecraft.

The sergeant recovered quickly, ignoring the blood flowing down the side of his face, and jumping into his chair, trying to control the Jumper as the nose began to drop.

McGee picked himself up slowly, shaking his head, climbing into his chair and trying not to look behind him at the smoking rear compartment.

"What the hell was that?" he breathed, heart pounding as he watched the ground race up to meet them. What had the Wraith hit them with this time? Had it even been the Wraith?

Wheeler didn't answer – understandably – face tight and pale as he tried to steer the shaking Jumper. With a start McGee realised the sergeant was still aiming for their target. He was going to crash the Jumper – and them – into it.

McGee's heart stopped racing, and slowed, as he reached forward for the radio.

"DiNozzo, we've been hit."

"I can see that, probie!" DiNozzo all but shouted. "Why the hell isn't Wheeler trying to land that thing? What the hell is he doing?"

"We're doing what we can, Tony," McGee told him, wondering if that really was his voice that sounded so calm. "The jamming signal needs to be turned off."

There was a pause. "No!" DiNozzo shouted, actually shouted this time. "McGee, don't!"

McGee leaned back in his chair, and watched with complete serenity as the ground filled the screen in front of him. And then…

"McGee, don't d-!"

* * *

Time was still in slow motion, and no one seemed to even be breathing in that one small field of Bornholm as the Jumper crept closer and closer to the ground, rear end smoking where it had been hit, the cold grey of dawn like wisps on the horizon, just catching the gleaming metal as the out of control machine slammed into the ground thirty feet away from the suddenly stunned and still Wraith.


	21. Chapter 21

**Author's Note:** Wow, we're getting near the end now... should be finished on the weekend... wow, that makes me sad! However, this serving of story should make it all better!

And again, thanks to everyone who's reviewed! Can I say I love you even though I don't know you?

* * *

**Chapter 21**

The first thing Gibbs saw as he arrived at the battlefield was a Jumper – holding one or more of his people – slam into the ground nearly two hundred feet away.

It created a sickening crunch heard by everyone, and Gibbs couldn't help but flinch. But they were still too far away, and Walker's foot was about to go through the floor of the Jeep as it was.

They had taken two of Olczak's Jeeps – the man seemed to have a never-ending supply of them – and had quickly followed the sounds of explosions, the sight of dirt, and their own innate sense of a fight along the dirt road.

And it had led them to this.

Gibbs forced his eyes away from the spot where the Jumper had crashed. They were too far away to do anything, and in any case, the second Jumper was already hovering over the fallen ship, and acting murderous to any of the Wraith ships – Darts, Lorne had told him – that came their way.

But he couldn't watch that now, could only focus instead on the group of Jeeps that sudden appeared on the road in front of them, blocking the route.

Walker slammed their own Jeep to a halt, and took a hold of his P90. "I'm guessing that's Olczak's convoy.

Lorne nodded. "I'm guessing too." He tapped his radio. "Captain Atler, come in."

There was a long pause; too long. It was Lorne who spotted them first. Them being the guys with machine guns.

"Down!"

Gibbs obeyed instinctively, and just in time as bullets sprayed against the windshield. Thankfully Walker had listened to the major as well and had bent over double, and none of the bullets hit soft tissue.

The barrage let up for a moment, and they all sat up, taking a deep breath. But Walker growled under his breath, and jerked the Jeep into first gear.

"What the -?"

Before Gibbs could even finish his question, the Jeep was speeding forward, and Walker skipped second to go straight into third, a determined look on his face.

"Major Lorne, this is Captain Reynolds. Atler's dead."

Lorne didn't answer, but that was mostly because the machine guns fired again, and they all ducked. Somehow Walker managed to keep the Jeep in a straight line, and the machine gun fire became desperate, faster, harder somehow. The sergeant slammed the car into fourth.

"Everyone hold on!" Walker shouted over the noise, sitting up and chancing the bullets as the Jeep hurtled into Olczak's convoy. Gibbs felt his body slam forward as the car impacted with something. The bullets stopped, there were shouts in a foreign language, and one, he swore, in English, but the agent wasn't paying attention to outside the car, because inside, he had ended up crushed against Walker's seat, Lorne groaning in front and to the right of him, and with a sore leg.

The Jeep slammed to a halt yet again, swerving to the side this time, and Gibbs pushed himself back onto the seat, grabbed the P90 attached to his vest, and reached for the handle.

Walker opened his door at the same time, and together they leapt into the fight, running for the other Jeeps, using their side of the enemy vehicles for cover, Major Lorne not far behind them.

* * *

DiNozzo's heart lurched as he watched the Jumper crash into the ground, and Ziva's hand on his shoulder tightened until it hurt. Not that he said anything, because McGee had been in that Jumper. And that hand kept him anchored in reality, in keeping in mind that McGee had been in that goddamn Jumper and not in the thought that maybe all this was one effed up dream.

"McGee?" he asked over the radio, even as he sent out two drones after a Dart that flashed up on his HUD. He paid only enough mind to ensure the drones hit and focused more on the radio. "McGee, answer!"

"Get over there."

DiNozzo didn't even look at McKay as he interrupted the silent Jumper. "What?" he asked mindlessly instead. McGee. Probie. McGigg-

"Get over there!" McKay snapped, turning in the seat. "That wasn't a bad crash, they're probably still alive. But not if that Dart blows up the Jumper!"

DiNozzo jumped in his seat as everyone on the Jumper started moving again. He flew the Jumper forwards, anger welling as he took out the Dart preparing to fire on the downed Jumper, ignoring the shake as a second Dart hit his ship. Reynolds moved to the rear section, talking on his radio to Colonel Caldwell, but DiNozzo missed the glowing light that indicated someone had been taken away via Asgard beaming as he focused on the Dart that had hit him.

He manoeuvred in so he was hovering over the Jumper, and he realised McKay had been right. The front was a bit crumpled, but these Jumpers were designed for space battles. Hell, he had already been hit once or twice by Darts, and his ship was still going, still fighting. One tiny crash couldn't hurt. It couldn't.

Ziva's hand tightened again, and DiNozzo remembered to breathe as he focused on the next Dart, determined to whittle them away, some form of retribution for bringing McGee's ship down.

"Agent DiNozzo!" Reynolds called from the back, and Tony turned around to realise the Jumper was half empty, and all their injured, including Ronon and Teyla were gone. Reynolds was standing by the rear hatch. "We're opening the rear hatch, can you get a little closer to the ground."

He nodded, starting to sweat a little: this was harder than it looked, concentrating on so many things at once. Especially since Darts kept on hitting him. How many of the things were out there? And where was the other Jumper?

But he lowered the Jumper as he tried firing at the Dart that had hit him, and cursed when he missed.

He fired again as he steadied the Jumper, feeling the beginnings of a bad headache coming on, and ruthlessly shoving it away to mind for later. Quickly he looked behind him. The rear hatch was opening, and Reynolds was watching the ever-growing gap, hands tight on his P90, Brown opposite him.

Ziva was taking a vest from Holden, and DiNozzo gave a start to realise he didn't remember when her hand had left his shoulder. Or that she was going and he couldn't.

"DiNozzo, concentrate!" McKay snapped, and Tony looked back round, wishing these things had rear view mirrors. But he let loose two more drones and this time, finally, they hit the Dart, and it exploded. How many were left?

"Go!" Reynolds cried to his men, and DiNozzo resisted the heavy urge to look around and watch them jump from ropes out of the Ancient ship. Instead, he found his next target and let loose two more drones, wincing as the ship shuddered again when another Wraith weapon hit it.

"Okay," Reynolds called over the comm. "We're on the ground, and you're a sitting duck. We'll find Agent McGee, DiNozzo."

Tony nodded determinedly. "And I'll go find some more Darts." He paused only so the rear hatch could close, and then shot off from his position, soaring into the sky after yet another Wraith ship. "Good luck," he offered as he let off two drones.

Looked like he needed his own well-wishing, as the Dart dodged the drones and spun in midair, coming straight for him.

"Ah, shooting it would be good," McKay breathed. "Like, now. Now!"

"I'm trying!" DiNozzo grunted as he shot one drone, feeling too drained at that moment to do anymore. "I'm trying!"

Except for all his trying, the drone missed, and the Dart whistled menacingly as it came –

It exploded ten feet from them, and DiNozzo screwed his eyes shut as he flew through the midair wreckage, opening them five seconds later to the sweet sound of an Atlantis voice.

"Dr McKay, Agent DiNozzo," the voice called. "This is Lieutenant Matthews on Jumper Three. Heard you could use some help."

McKay heaved a sigh of relief, and nodded, though the Lieutenant couldn't see them. "Well, it's about time."

* * *

Ronon almost couldn't believe it when the grey metal of the Daedalus infirmary materialised all around him. So long they had all been behind bars, away from home, away from safety and security… finding himself aboard the Daedalus, while expected, was a little surreal.

But he shoved those feelings away, only wondering how many psych sessions the SGC would make him take as he swept Teyla into his arms off the floor and into the closest bed.

The doctors and nurses aboard the Daedalus were already moving into action at the same time, heading for Dawson and Spencer as well, while a few came to help him, their eyes raking over him, looking for any sign of weakness, of injury. He refused to show it, and just stepped back as yet more doctors surrounded Teyla.

"Ronon!"

The Satedan turned to find General O'Neill heading towards him, looking around the infirmary with some confusion. He nodded his head in greeting, unable to help the feelings of relief at seeing this man he hardly knew. How would he feel when he got back to Atlantis?

"General," Ronon said with his nod. "It's good to see you."

"You too," O'Neill remarked, his tone a little dry. "But I could've sworn you had more people with you. What's going on down there?"

Ronon shook his head. "Not really sure," he told the older man. "DiNozzo and McKay are fighting off Darts from Wheeler and McGee's crashed jumper. Jamming signal's down, but guess you knew that."

"And Sheppard and his team?" O'Neill demanded. "That man is in no condition to be down there fighting gangsters on top of Wraith."

Ronon doubted Sheppard was in the condition to even be conscious, but he didn't say that out loud. "I didn't see Sheppard. I think Olczak has him, but Lorne'll get him back." The scowl on O'Neill's face said the major had better get his CO back. "But they'll need help. I'll need a few teams of marines. I think there are maybe eight Wraith, not including the ones in the Darts, and about a dozen enemy men."

"Whoa, what makes you think you're going anywhere?" one of the doctors cut in, shoving his way into the conversation. "You've been held captive for a week and a half!"

Ronon directed his answer to the general. "So had Sheppard," he said quietly. "And he's down there, captive again, cause he was trying to rescue us. I need to be down there. We don't leave men behind."

O'Neill's scowl was definitely directed at him this time. "You people all have the same arguments," he snapped, but the Satedan knew the shorter man would give in. "Fine. Whatever." He half-turned away, before looking back. "You'll have five minutes before the marines are ready. I suggest you take the time to at least get a glass of water."

Ronon nodded, relieved that the man was letting him go. After all Sheppard had done for him, it was the least he could do to rescue the man in turn.

* * *

On the ground, the crashed Jumper looked much worse.

Ziva tried to avoid swallowing hard as she swung her borrowed 9mm around, searching the dark grey morning for any of the enemy. But down here, even out in the open, the world was strangely quiet, the sounds of gun fights and exploding Wraith ships far away.

In the lead, Reynolds and Brown each took a side of the nearly destroyed rear hatch, looking around the corners for anyone or anything popping up when it shouldn't be. Not sure how to work Ancient technology, Ziva helped Henderson cover their rear while Holden went to the hole in the bottom corner, about knee height on the marine. He bent over to take a look, and shook his head.

"We're going to need engineers down here real fast," he told them. "I don't think any of us can fit through that."

"Can't Daedalus beam them out?" Brown asked, and Reynolds shook his head.

"No. Wheeler they can, but McGee doesn't have a transmitter."

Ziva turned her head to take a look, studying the small hole. "What about me?" she asked, stepping backwards, still covering their rear. "Can I fit through? Then they can use my radio signal to beam McGee"

Holden paused, sizing her up. "Maybe. Probably." He looked back at the hole. "You'd probably just squeeze through if you took off the vest."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Reynolds interrupted, stepping back around the corner of the Jumper's rear. "Is it safe? That jumper just crashed, and it's bellowing smoke like a bitch. What if there's a fire, or its sparking?"

Holden shook his head. "Not anymore. The Jumper's completely dead, sir."

"Besides, it's all the more reason to get in there now, while can," Ziva told him, holstering her gun and shrugging out of the borrowed vest. "I'm not about to let McGee die."

And ignoring the look on the captain's face, she bent over, shoving her vest through first, knowing she would need its supplies. And then she jumped into the hole, sliding through the metal, trying not to get caught on any jagged edges or frayed wires.

Thankfully the hatch was thin, and she was through into the rear of the Jumper within a second, sliding out and into a roll before getting to her feet in the shadowed compartment.

The Jumper was pretty dark, but enough of the pre-dawn was coming through the front window that she could survey the damage through the smoke-filled compartment.

The rear was almost completely destroyed, wires going everywhere, the crystal compartments down, their components shattered. She doubted if this Jumper would ever fly again.

She stumbled forward, trying to wave aside some of the lingering smoke, kicking aside boxes and cases that had been stowed away in various places, hoping she wasn't kicking anything important. But she could see both McGee and Wheeler. And neither of them were moving.

She reached the front compartment, digging her hand instantly into McGee's neck, heaving a sigh of relief when she found a steady pulse. Not exactly strong, but steady.

She turned around, giving Wheeler the same treatment, tapping her borrowed radio when she found his thready pulse as well.

"Captain, this is Ziva," she told them all. "They're both alive, somehow."

"Status?" Reynolds asked back. "So we can let Daedalus know."

"Sergeant Wheeler has a head wound," she answered, scanning the two men. "I think he also has a broken leg, and probably broken ribs. It looks like he hit the console."

"Any sign of internal bleeding?" Reynolds asked.

"None that I can see, but I don't want to move him." She turned around to study McGee. "Agent McGee is also unconscious, with a head wound. Dislocated shoulder and broken arm. But he appears to be doing much better than Sergeant Wheeler."

"Okay, Officer David," Reynolds replied. "Just sit tight, let us know of any changes. Daedalus is just triangulating your radio signal, and as soon as they're ready, they'll beam you out."

Ziva nodded, but didn't respond, just placed her fingers gently against McGee's neck again, needing to be sure. His heartbeat remained the same, and she sighed, letting her head drop slightly.

"You'll be okay, McGee," she whispered as bright light suddenly surrounded them all, and she prepared to be transported aboard Daedalus. "Just hold on, okay?"

* * *

"How many more of these bloody things are left?" DiNozzo demanded, trying to take down yet another pesky Dart. McKay shook his head, trying to stare at the HUD without seeing double.

"Not many. Jumper Three's being pretty helpful," he answered, though the minute the words were out of his mouth, the Jumper shuddered with yet another hit from the one of the Wraith ships. He honestly didn't know how many more the Jumper could take: it had already taken more than he had thought it would.

"But there's still more than we can handle," DiNozzo answered through gritted teeth, even as he jerked the ship into a climb, going after the closest Dart. McKay glanced across at the agent, just quickly, and didn't like what he saw. The man was starting to shake, was sweating and pale. For the inexperienced, flying the Jumpers was tiring; fighting, shooting, flying in tight circles and cutting corners, and just generally doing what Tony was doing, well that should have been impossible.

But the man appeared to be channelling Sheppard, so Rodney didn't say a word, just turned back to the HUD in time to see one little Dart-representing dot disappear off the screen, blinking out of existence, and nodded.

"Doing good, DiNozzo," McKay breathed. "Only two more to -."

The HUD beeped, the screen changed, and McKay swallowed whatever he had been about to say, staring up at the latest readings with growing horror.

"Oh no, this is not good."

DiNozzo shoot him a frown, shaking his head. "No. I did not want to hear that. I do not want to hear that something is not good, because that means it's bad. And bad is not good."

McKay almost couldn't respond, trying to surface from the sudden panic he found himself in. "Well, this is really, really bad." He shook his head, eyes never leaving the HUD. "I don't know how, but they found the problems I put in their program. They fixed it! Quick, we need to destroy that machine!"

DiNozzo responded, pulling hard on one control and spinning the Jumper a complete one-eighty in a matter of seconds, before flying straight for the glowing blue machine. "How the hell do we do that?" he demanded, even as he flew straight for the Wraith. "They have a giant shield bubble, remember?"

McKay had forgotten. "Shit! Shit, shit, shit!"

"What are they going to do?" Tony asked, obviously not getting what problems Rodney was talking about. "It can't be that bad."

"Just the fate of the entire galaxy," McKay snorted, making the agent's jaw drop. "I put in a program so they wouldn't be able to connect with the satellites properly. Only they found it, fixed it, and now they can contact the Pegasus Galaxy." He turned to look at the agent, even as the HUD beeped again, catching DiNozzo's widening eyes as he realised what Rodney was talking about.

"And they're powering up their telephone right now."

* * *

Sheppard shook off yet more dirt as he picked himself up from the ground, wondering exactly who had been behind the wheel of that Jeep, and whether he should have a stern talking to them about trying to kill their commanding officer.

But he looked around, trying to find everyone in the dark morning. They needed to end this quickly. They couldn't have people coming to check out explosions and flying alien ships, even if this was Olczak's land.

The Jeeps were in a mass of confusion, one crumpled where the other Jeep had hit it. That other Jeep was kicking up dirt as it swerved to a halt, and two men jumped out, quickly followed by another figure he easily recognised as Lorne. A second Jeep stopped just behind the group of Polish Jeeps, and another three people jumped out, firing with their P90s straight away.

Which meant the Poles were distracted, and Sheppard had a chance. He got to his feet, and headed for the Jeep, not keen on distracting his people while they were busy fighting Olczak. He ducked and ran in a sort of stumble, wondering just how much adrenaline he had left, falling to one knee behind the Jeep as his legs began shaking. Yeah, not much adrenaline left.

But he managed to get back to his feet, turning to open the door and rifling through the back seat with his eyes. Nothing particularly useful, but he needed these ties off. Thank God Olczak was up with the times and used plastic cuffs, and not good old hand cuffs, even if they had been digging into his wrists with all the running and falling and being hit.

He jumped into the car, spun on his backside and began searching through the middle compartment. It wasn't easy, but he was rewarded for his efforts when a knife bit his finger. Holding back the curse, he grabbed it and sawed quickly through the bindings.

He let loose a groan of relief as he pulled his arms to the front, working his sore shoulders, keeping a hold of the knife. So far it was his only weapon, though he hadn't given up looking just yet: he turned around and kept on looking through the middle compartment, taking a quick look out the window. His men were moving forward, pressing the Poles into their Jeeps from both sides, and he needed to help them. But for that, he needed a gun.

He crawled forward into the front seats and opened the glove compartment. Nothing. He gave a growl, trying not to eye the growing light of day as he checked the sides of the seats, putting his hands in the gaps. Yeah, cause that's where he always kept his –

He pulled his hand out, heaving a sigh of relief as he pulled a .45 from the small space between the door and the seat. He had a weapon, now he just needed a target. And Kolek Olczak sounded like a pretty good idea.

He kicked open the driver's side door and crawled out, hands moving smoothly to check the ammunition in the borrowed .45. He never even got close to getting the clip out.

An explosion suddenly rocked the field, a horizontal wave of light erupting from the Wraith camp. John shot forward, the energy knocking the wind from his lungs as he hit the ground hard, rolling over and just avoiding getting spattered with bits of Jeep as it exploded from the force. Silence filled the growing dawn, the ringing and his own breathing loud in his ears as he rolled onto his back, .45 still in his hand.

And his gut dropped.

Because they had forgotten about the Wraith. Because a glowing blue column of pure energy was shooting up into the sky. Because if they didn't act quickly, the SGC, Earth, the entire Milky Way galaxy, all of them were doomed.


	22. Chapter 22

**Author's Note:** Wow, so this is almost it, people. This is the chapter, where everything comes to a head... only one more post after tonight... I feel sad...

Enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter 22**

Gibbs picked himself up gingerly, wincing as something pulled in his back, but ignoring it as the ringing in his ears slowly died down.

A few feet from him, Walker was doing the same thing, getting to his hands and knees, hand reaching around for the bit of door stuck in his back. He slumped back to the ground and was still.

On the other side of Walker, Lorne was already on his feet, tossing aside a mangled P90, as he looked around for the enemy, the holstered side arm replacing the machine gun almost instantly. But Olczak's Jeeps had remained all but untouched by the shockwave, and now the guards themselves had disappeared.

Gibbs paid it no mind, crawling to the sergeant and checking for a pulse, not liking the thready beat he found. He looked up at Lorne as the major knelt by them.

"Olczak?" he asked, probably louder than he should have: his ears were still ringing.

Lorne shook his head in disgust. "Gone, somewhere. Walker?"

"Alive," Gibbs told him. "Just. There's the small matter of a bit of Jeep sticking out of his -."

Lorne's jaw dropping cut him off, and Gibbs spun around to look, eyes following the blue column up, and up, into the sky.

"The satellites," Lorne surmised in a whisper. "Shit, they're doing it."

"We need to do something!" Gibbs snapped back, and Lorne looked him in the eye, obviously torn.

"We can't leave Walker," the major told him, before he paused. "Go, Gibbs. Go! I'll be there as soon as Daedalus beams Walker out."

Gibbs didn't argue, just leapt to his feet and ran towards the Wraith, cursing that they all seemed to have forgotten about the deadly aliens from another galaxy. He tapped his radio harder than he probably needed to. "Someone take out the Wraith!"

"Oh, what a good idea!" Came back McKay's irritated voice almost instantly. "Jeez, why didn't we think of that? Oh, I know… because we did! There's a small matter of a _shield_ surrounding the Wraith, Agent Gibbs!"

"Then we need someone to turn it off," Captain Reynolds interrupted before McKay could go on. Which he would have, Gibbs had no doubt.

"Are you volunteering?" McKay demanded. "Cause there's still eight Wraith in there, if you can even get through it."

Gibbs slid to a halt twenty feet from the Wraith, gut rolling in his stomach, heart beginning to pound. This was not good.

"I'm not close enough," Reynolds told them all with some guilt. Damn suicidal Atlanteans, they were all the same. "We're on our way, but the blast didn't even touch Wheeler's Jumper."

"It doesn't matter," Gibbs said heavily as he ducked down behind a bush, at the very edge of the mostly transparent shield, shimmering slightly in the air. "Someone's already in there."

"Who?" Lorne demanded, entering the conversation for the first time.

Gibbs didn't have to answer. "Sheppard!" McKay growled, even before the Jumper still in the air got close enough to even see the Wraith. "That idiot!"

Gibbs was inclined to agree, especially seeing as how the man was surrounded by Wraith at this very instant.

"McKay, you need to get here," Gibbs whispered, not wanting to attract attention. "Sheppard's going to need back up." He had to do something

This time McKay was the one who didn't have to answer. "We're on our way, Boss," DiNozzo told him. "But not much we can do with that shield. For that matter, how did Sheppard get in?"

He could sneak in there. And no doubt get caught just as quickly as Sheppard had.

"It's not meant to keep people out," McKay answered DiNozzo's question. "Just Ancient weapons." A pause. "And Earth too, no doubt. But people, obviously, are fine."

Besides, he didn't even know what a shield generator looked like. He scowled, scanning every piece of Wraith technology and decided he liked it even less than human technology. Everything looked like it could be a shield generator.

"McKay?" Gibbs asked softly, interrupting the argument between the scientist and his agent.

"Yeah?" the man responded, curious all of a sudden, as if he could sense a plan coming.

"If you described a Wraith shield generator to me, do you -."

He cut off, eyes focusing – not an easy task in this light – as Sheppard looked right at him, and jerked his hands.

"Agent Gibbs?" Reynolds asked when the man didn't go on.

"Boss?" DiNozzo contributed.

"Shut up," Gibbs hissed softly. "Sheppard's trying to tell me something."

* * *

Sheppard bounced upright as soon as he saw the column shooting up into the sky, cursing himself that he had forgotten about the Wraith in his haste to get Olczak. Okay, so half the time he had been held prisoner, but that wasn't the problem.

The problem was the Wraith were about to bring all their buddies down on the Milky Way. And Sheppard wasn't about to sit down and let that happen.

He sprinted towards the Wraith, ignoring everything else going on, the crashed Jumper a hundred metres away, the smouldering remains of Jeep he ran past, the one he had almost been in when it blew up. He ignored it all as he ran to the Wraith camp.

He slowed as he approached, ducking down behind a bush, glad the sky was taking its sweet time to let the sun take hold. And from his vantage point, he surveyed the Wraith camp.

The machine to get the message to Pegasus was in the dead centre, surrounded by a scrapheap of computers that apparently made up a working system, and three MacGyvered power sources that looked very similar to naquadah generators. Sheppard supposed the Wraith had finally taken up the design, though doubtful the source.

Other things were surrounding, but Sheppard only had eyes for the device on the other side of the camp. He knew enough about technology now to recognise a shield generator. And that one was flashing like crazy.

Without hesitation, he stood up, aimed his gun and fired until the clip was empty.

Which was instantly, and he kicked himself as he realised he never did get the chance to check the ammo in the gun. On the other hand, the Wraith had spotted him instantly.

Two drones came forward and grabbed him hard by the arms, and Sheppard turned back to kicking himself mentally as they dragged him before the leader.

"Well, well, well," the Wraith muttered with a grin. "Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard. This is an honour."

"Yeah, sorry I missed you before. Was a little busy bringing the cavalry." He refused to scowl, refused to give it the satisfaction. "So, what's new? I see you got a promotion in the boss's absence."

The Wraith's grin deepened and it flexed its feeding hand. "Indeed. How is my old commander? Is he hungry yet?"

Sheppard shrugged as easily as he could in the Wraiths' grip, looked around slightly. It was the only reason he spotted the movement, the grey hair. "A little. But the… er, guy, has a nasty habit of kicking on."

"Very true," the Wraith answered, before the machine behind him beeped. "Excuse me."

Sheppard looked around and managed to catch Gibbs' eye. And, hoping that the man hadn't lost his radio, and that the Wraith hadn't also invented sign language, he jerked his hands slightly in a cross. _Barrier._

It was hard to tell in the light, but he thought the agent scowled, before moving his hands to respond. _Really?_

Sheppard tried not to react to the fact that even Gibbs' hands could manage to sound sarcastic, and motioned at himself, before tapping his wrist, then spreading his palm. _My five o'clock_.

Gibbs glanced over there, and Sheppard wished the man would hurry while the Wraith attempted to communicate with their kin in Pegasus. When Gibbs looked back, Sheppard jerked his hands, probably harder than he should have; the Wraith on his left glanced at him, but remained silent. _Destroy._

Gibbs eyed the Wraith. _Enemy?_

Sheppard eyed them to trying not to look in Gibbs' direction too much. _I distract_.

When he glanced back at the agent, the man signed an emphatic, _bad plan!_

John ignored it, looking back at the Wraith with his back to him and beginning the countdown. _Three… two…_

He jumped as a shot sounded out too close, before cursing and ripping his arms out of the grip of the two Wraith. It helped that one had been pummelled by gunfire.

Just not P90 fire, and Sheppard had known it long before Olczak's men stormed the Wraith camp, taking the aliens by surprise. And yet again – though he had sworn last time would be _the_ last time – he found himself fighting side by side with Wraith. Although, it wasn't his fault the other human beings were trying to kill him as well.

He ducked under the swinging double-barrelled shot gun, before lashing out with a palm, close enough to shatter the nose of the unlucky gangster who had chosen him as an opponent. The man dropped his gun in his haste to get his hands to his bloody, broken nose. Sheppard caught the gun, swung it around and slammed the butt into the man's head. He went down, and Sheppard looked around for the shield generator.

With only a small thought for what might have happened to Gibbs, he found the generator and rushed for it. No easy task, as he found out when a Wraith jumped in his path, and suddenly he found himself a single party in the fight between three.

He managed to dodge the stunner blast, something made much harder by the fact that he was trying to stop at the same time. But the blast missed him, and he brought the stolen shot gun up, and pulled one of the triggers.

A hole appeared in the drone, who apparently hadn't fed recently enough to survive a shot point-blank in the chest. It fell over, and Sheppard ran forward again, leaping the dead alien and getting a whole step closer to the generator.

A second Wraith closed in on him, and Sheppard didn't see this one in time. Thankfully someone else did, because P90 fire peppered its chest, and another Wraith went down. Sheppard looked up in the direction the shots had come from, and Gibbs, still signing, told him to _go_.

The colonel listened, making it the whole way to the generator this time, staring down at it for only a second. Then shouldered the gun and emptied the remaining shell into the Wraith shield device.

The spray from only a few inches away actually wormed its way into the machine, and it flashed only a few more times before making a sputtering noise and dying, a little too anti-climactically for Sheppard's liking. But the shield came down, and Sheppard turned to find Gibbs so they could both get out of here.

He didn't find Gibbs on turning around. He would have preferred that, of course, rather than the two machine guns aimed at his body, and the 9mm aimed at his forehead, all held by two steady guards and one smirking Olczak.

He scowled, dropping the shot gun – empty of cartridges, it was useless anyway – and put his hands on his hips, staring directly back at Olczak.

"Thank you, Sheppard," the man told him, glancing at the dead shield generator. Behind the man, a few more Wraith still battled Poles, but the majority of the Pegasus natives were down and out. Dead. Olczak hadn't been lying, though it had cost him; twice as many of his men littered the ground. "You saved me doing that myself."

"Glad to see you finally came to your senses," Sheppard snapped, before catching sight Gibbs creeping up behind the battle, eyes intent on the them. Keeping his sights on both Olczak and the agent was difficult, but his hand motion made Gibbs pause where he was, and Olczak never looked around. "What did it?"

_Destroy_. He almost whispered it as he made a tiny motion with his hands, trying to focus on too many things at once. But even Olczak's words couldn't stop him from spotting Gibbs' sharp head shake.

"I always had my senses, Sheppard," Olczak told him, while behind, Gibbs signed the words, _Too close_.

Sheppard scowled. "You were Wraith-hugging before," he muttered, realising he was losing the conversation. He hoped Olczak just took it as a sign of weakness, and didn't look at his hands. _Shoot!_ "Did you finally realise they would double-cross you?"

Behind it all, unnoticed, ignored, Gibbs glared at him. _No!_

_Shoot!_ He ordered. _My command, remember. Shoot!_

Olczak seemed to realise something was going on, frowning as he stared at the colonel. "What are you up to, Sheppard?"

"Nothing." _Shoot!_ And he heaved a sigh of relief as Gibbs signed a hefty curse before tapping his radio. "So, what now, Olczak?"

* * *

Gibbs was going to kill the colonel himself, he decided, as he tapped his radio, and opened communications to Jumper Two. "DiNozzo, the shield's down. Shoot that signal, right now."

"No way, boss," the younger man called back. "You and Sheppard are still way too close. At least, I'm guessing it's Sheppard, seeing as he's a trouble -."

"DiNozzo, just do it!" Gibbs growled. "That signal needs to be stopped. Sheppard and me will be out of here before you hit it."

At least he hoped so. Maybe not, considering the Jumper's speed. "Leave Sheppard up to me. Just stop the Wraith from contacting home!"

There was a heavy pause. "Yessir," Tony snapped back, and in the sky, Jumper Two hooked a U-turn and flew back their way. Gibbs looked back to Sheppard, just in time to see the man signing frantically. _Run, run, run!_

And as Gibbs watched, Olczak finally looked down.

There was a roar of anger, and then the gangster lashed out, using his gun to swipe Sheppard heavily over the head, even as he looked up and saw the Jumper coming closer and closer. The colonel fell to the ground, bleeding from his already bruised face, and Gibbs began to rush in, not about to let the man get vaporised with the Wraith's machine. Olczak gave Sheppard a last kick, causing the colonel to curl in on himself, before he and his remaining men ran. The Jumper came into range, and Gibbs had that feeling he was about to die saving someone else.

But then Sheppard crawled to his hands and knees, stumbled to his feet, and then looked around, spotting Gibbs coming in, scowling. "Run!" he shouted, taking his own orders and turning on his heels, sprinting into the dawn.

Gibbs obeyed instantly this time, nearly falling on his not so steady knees as he turned and ran as fast as he could away from the machine.

The Jumper swooped in and fired, two drones aimed dead straight at the machine emitting the blue column.

The explosion was huge, and Gibbs could only be thankful that he had run far enough that the blast didn't pulverise him. It did knock him off his feet, sending him flying forward five or ten feet to land hard on a shoulder that somehow didn't dislocate. He rolled to a stop, every part of him aching as he flopped down on his back, darkness creeping into the edges of his vision.

And he smiled with satisfaction as he stared up into a blue-column-less sky.

* * *

Sheppard rolled to a halt as well, groaning as his body finally started protesting the misuse of all its parts. He came to a stop face down, and was content just to lie there for a moment. Or forever, if he could be sure someone would find him. Someone would, he guessed, but his work wasn't done.

Struggling, he got unsteadily to his feet, the world spinning for a minute as he tried to get his balance. His ears were ringing, again, and what he had told Gibbs what felt like so very long ago, about probably needing sign language one day from too many explosions… well, it was starting to sound like prophecy.

If prophecy sounded like ringing in his ears, of course.

He shook his head, realised he shouldn't be doing that, and started stumbling forwards back towards the main fight, about fifty feet away. To his left was the crashed Jumper, and he could just see Reynolds and his team just joining the party, a few seconds too late. Or not, judging by the men still wandering around, dazed. And the one or two Wraith who seemed to have survived the explosion. But they could deal with that. Sheppard was sure of it. Maybe he could finally –

He felt it before he heard it.

He jerked with the impact of something hitting his chest, took a single step back, grunted belatedly as he looked down, seeing the dark red spreading over his front, watched it flow down and around.

And then the sound – or rather the memory of the sound – of a single gunshot came to his mind, and he fell to his knees, struggling to breath.

Snatching his wavering attention away from the bullet wound in his chest, the pain that was beginning to thump, the heaving of his lungs, he looked up, intent on calling for help, but distracted by the smug, bald head he found blocking his sight.

"What… couldn't face me… like a real… man?" Sheppard demanded, his thighs collapsing, his butt landing on his ankles. But still he looked up, quickly losing feelings in his extremities and ignoring it as Olczak squatted down to look him in the eye.

"I was not about to make that mistake again, Sheppard," the gangster whispered, almost too softly for John to hear. But he thought someone could have yelled – was someone yelling? – and he would still struggle to hear it.

"Going… to kill… you," he promised, even as his eyes began to droop, his vision began to blur. He was losing too much blood, too quickly, and Olczak's laugh echoed in his ears.

"Tough words, my dear colonel. But perhaps you should have done it when you had the chance." Olczak stood up, and John refused to consider how much of an effort it was just to tilt his head that tiny little degree upwards, when his body was screaming for blood, for oxygen, when he was finding it harder and harder to breathe.

The Pole raised his gun, aiming directly for Sheppard's forehead. "And now, Colonel, say…"

Sheppard didn't hear the rest of the words. A shadow loomed out of nowhere, tall and pale in the growing light of dawn. Sheppard tore his eyes away from Olczak to look at it, dread forming in his stomach before he had even identified the creature. And Olczak trailed off, turning to look at what had caught his victim's attention.

The Wraith wrapped a snake like arm around Olczak's, and twisted the human around until the man was facing the Wraith face on, fear so very clear in his usually cold eyes.

"What are you doing?" Olczak demanded in a wavering voice. "Let me go!"

"I do not think so," the Wraith hissed, flexing its feeding hand. "You were going to betray us. And I'm feeling… peckish."

"No!" Olczak shouted, even as the feeding hand slammed down on the man's chest and the Wraith began to suck the life from him.

It was over within seconds, but to Sheppard's oxygen deprived mind, it felt like it took hours. Hours in which Olczak withered before his very eyes, screams echoing not only in his ears, but in his head as the gangster lost year after year, slowly, painfully, achingly…

The Wraith dropped Olczak's corpse to the ground, time seemed to speed up, and Sheppard collapsed to the ground as well, no longer having the energy to hold himself up. His vision was darkening, blurring, doubling, he could barely breath, and what was worse, he couldn't feel a thing.

The Wraith turned to sneer down upon him, before cocking its head. "You are hardly worth the energy it would take," the alien acknowledged, and John just blinked. Its sneer deepened. "But who would not want a taste of John Sheppard."

It bent down, and noise came from nowhere, a strange too-deep blast that sounded achingly familiar. Red encased the Wraith and it stood up straight, giving a roar as it clutched at its smoking side.

Barely able to comprehend what was happening, Sheppard struggled to stay awake, even as the Wraith began jerking, the sounds of P90 fire hitting it hard from many directions, and then red hit the being again, and it fell, to one knee, still taking bullets. Sheppard watched it fall, slowly, slowly, and remembered to take a breath again. It was hard, and he coughed, and something dribbled over his lips, just a tiny splash, and he wondered if he should be worried.

And then someone was beside him, and that someone was worried, his familiar face surrounded by dreadlocks, and Sheppard knew he could rest, despite the voices shouting at him, urging him, calling his name. And then the dreadlocked man looked up at a grey-haired man who entered John's diminishing field of vision.

_I don't think he's breathing…_

And John let his eyes close, and slipped into darkness.

* * *

Gibbs dropped the P90 as the Wraith went down, and rushed to the fallen colonel's side, joining Ronon in all but the dive to his knees, Reynolds and Henderson coming to a halt right behind him, the other marines, fresh from Daedalus behind them.

"Sheppard," Ronon called, grabbing the man's shoulders. The colonel didn't seem to notice. "Sheppard! Sheppard? John!"

Ronon sat back as Sheppard's eyes closed, and looked up at Gibbs, horror on his face. "I don't think he's breathing."

Gibbs felt a jolt run through his entire body as he realised the indestructible colonel was actually dying on them, and then he knelt beside Sheppard as well, digging a clumsy hand into the man's neck. Then he shook his head, breath catching. "He doesn't have a pulse."

* * *

Don't worry... I swear I'll try to post tomorrow night!


	23. Chapter 23

**Author's Note: **Wow, this is it. The last two chapters. The answers to all those questions. The solution to the meaning of life... Not really, but you catch my drift.

Just wanted to say thank you to everyone who read and reviewed! If you write as well, you know what those reviews mean to a ficcer. And if you don't... well, they're awesome, so thanks!

Anyways, enjoy these last two, they're just quick ones, but I think they pull everything together quite nicely.

* * *

**Chapter 23**

Rodney heaved a sigh of relief before he could stop himself, as he rematerialised with the walls of Atlantis' gate room around him. Home. He was home.

Dozens of people stood around the room, and there was a spattering of applause, relief stark in the air, amidst the worry, the anxiety. Rodney ignored it all, just stormed up to Woolsey, leaving DiNozzo behind to talk with some of the marines who had been beamed with them.

"Where is he?" McKay asked before Woolsey could say a word to express those feelings in his eyes. Rodney didn't want to hear them, because they weren't all safe yet. They weren't all home.

"The infirmary," Woolsey told him grimly. Before the words were even completely out of the leader's mouth, Rodney had turned on his heels and was sprinting for the infirmary, barely even realising that DiNozzo was hot on his heels.

He slammed through the doors to the infirmary but no one said a word. Rodney doubted if anyone even heard it, they were all too focused on the bed on the other side of the infirmary.

McKay walked forward to stand between Ronon and Gibbs, both men with blood-soaked hands that made the scientist want to vomit. That was Sheppard's blood. He forced his gaze away, looking around the infirmary, a little stunned about all the people in it, and not just watching from the sidelines, but in the beds. McGee, awake but clearly still dazed, his arm in a sling, Ziva sitting beside him while Sergeant Wheeler lay in the next bed over, unconscious, leg up high. Dawson, watching everything with a grim face. Spencer, Trohman, Walker… All these people had come to rescue him and ended up in the infirmary for it.

"Clear!" Keller cried, and McKay flinched as Sheppard's body jerked on the gurney as the paddles shocked him. "Get some blood into him, he's losing it too fast."

McKay remembered to take a breath, staring hard at the sight, ignoring Keller's angry glances that said she didn't need the added pressure of anxious team mates to complicate this, but she seemed to be low on staff, and they were all too busy trying to keep Sheppard from dying to actually turn around and kick them all out. Though McKay doubted they could kick them all out, considering the entire team who had rescued them from Olczak's mansion were in this infirmary, and not just in beds, waiting with bated breath to see if Sheppard survived.

"Clear!" Keller cried again, and again Sheppard's bruised body jerked. The heart monitor beeped a few times and then that monotonous tone that McKay hated with all his heart started back up. The nurse pushed something through the IV, another bag of blood went up, and Keller turned the dials on the defibrillator.

"Come on, John," Ronon suddenly whispered, so quiet that McKay was sure he had been the only one to hear it. But he repeated the words in his head, and on the other side of him, Gibbs' hands tightened.

Keller took a deep breath, and Rodney swore his heart was about to stop, knowing that they were losing Sheppard faster and faster. He was slipping away, and they couldn't rescue him from this one.

"Clear!" Keller cried, and the paddles swooped down on Sheppard's unmoving chest again.

Sheppard's upper body arched up into the air again, and as it fell, the heart monitor gave a strong beep. And then another. A few seconds passed… and another. Another. The entire infirmary waited, holding their breath as if to take one mouthful would deprive their CO and destroy that heart beat, as it beeped again. And again. And again. And it kept on beeping, and McKay drew a haggard breath in, breaking the stillness as Keller all but dropped the paddles back into their spot.

"Quick, into surgery," she told her staff, and the gurney raced from its spot in the aisle towards the surgery room at the back of the infirmary. "And someone get those people out of my infirmary!"

The gurney disappeared, and McKay felt like passing out for a minute, as the room span softly. He ran a hand through his hair, dislodging dirt, before looking around, though he didn't really see that the marines had disappeared, though the NCIS agents and Lorne had remained, as had Ronon. But he didn't see them, didn't notice them all taking heavy breaths of relief, didn't notice that sense of having done everything humanly possible, and then some. He just really wanted to sit – the adrenaline was gone, and suddenly he felt exhausted.

He even knew where to do it, and stumbled forwards, vision wavering, blurring as he neared Teyla's bed. He even managed to make it there, all but falling into one of the chairs nearby, not hearing someone – Lorne – calling out his name, asking him if he was okay. Ronon was behind him, he knew, mostly because he felt safe. He felt safe, he was home, and he knew – he _knew_ – his team would be okay.

He passed out as soon as his butt hit the chair.

* * *

McGee ignored the quiet but consistent pounding in both his head and his recently reset broken arm as he leaned back in the bed, surveying the infirmary with some relief and some pride. It had been two hours since he had been beamed into Atlantis, only to be all but forgotten in the rush of making sure Sheppard wasn't going to die on them all.

It had quietened down now, though Sheppard still wasn't out of surgery. Gibbs had disappeared some time ago now, no doubt to find coffee. But DiNozzo and Ziva were sitting either side of him, the agent drifting off to sleep, nursing his own headache, the Mossad officer eyeing the infirmary the same as him. But they were silent: the entire infirmary was silent except for Ronon's snores. Both he and McKay has passed out pretty quickly after Sheppard had disappeared into surgery, though the Satedan had retained the sense to at least make it to a bed before he had done so. Everyone else appeared to be sleeping, and the city was silent.

Apparently Ziva was thinking along the same lines. "It seems like years since the world has been this still."

McGee nodded in understanding. "You can hear the waves if you really try."

It wasn't what either of them really wanted to say, and it was obvious to the younger agent that Ziva was struggling with the thoughts passing through her mind. But he didn't press, wasn't really sure how, and besides, he knew Ziva responded better if he let her speak. Sometimes he thought she was more of a guy than either him or Tony.

"I've been in plenty of high pressure situations before," she said quietly, speaking up suddenly. "And situations where people I knew or cared about were in danger, or putting their lives on the line. But this was different, somehow. This was…"

"Intense," McGee supplied knowingly, trying to shift his arm, and unable to because it was strapped to his body. An hour and a half, and it was already annoying him. Ziva nodded, leaning back in her chair. "I mean, if the Wraith had gotten word to the Pegasus Galaxy… the fate of the world was very literally in our hands."

"I was trying not to think about that," Ziva told him dryly. "Or about how it very nearly blew up in our faces."

"But it didn't," McGee reminded her. "We stopped them, all the Wraith are dead, Olczak's dead, his men are either dead, in prison, or on the run…"

"I know," Ziva said with a sigh. "But with everything that happened… Like you said, it was intense. I cannot believe that just two and a half days ago… I think it was two and a half days, at least."

"Those time zones are a bastard," McGee summed up with a smile. "But I think it's just after midnight in DC. So, nearly two and a half days."

"Nearly two and a half days since we _knew_ the world. And then we find out that the entirely different world millions of light years away is not so far as we thought."

"Only a telephone call away," Tim sighed, before sitting upright, unable to get into a comfortable position where both his dislocated shoulder and cracked ribs were not hurting. "Do you think they'll let me take a look at that technology?" he asked, getting off the topic of the end of the world and the seriousness of the past two days. "I mean, that was cool."

Ziva smiled, swinging her feet up onto the bed. "Perhaps, if you ask very nicely," she told him. "But my guess is they will wish to take a look themselves. Apparently Zelenka is very interested in the stories about the power source."

"Which is where the Wraith must have been the entire time Sheppard and his team were being held prisoner," McGee guessed with a nod. "Makes sense. There's nothing on Earth with the power to send a signal across galaxies."

"So while Olczak was using Szymański to prepare the recording technology for the Wraith's psychic signal, the Wraith were finding a way to actually send it." Ziva nodded. "I wonder where they found it."

"I'm guessing that'll be someone else's story," McGee told her, leaning back in the bed. "Far too complicated for me. I think I'll stick to the whole investigating thing."

"Do not underestimate yourself, McGee," Ziva warned him. "I saw you out there. You are not just an investigator."

McGee found himself not really wanting to know what that meant. He just sighed instead, not really liking the connotations, before glancing at the doors to the surgery. "Do you think he'll be right?" he asked before he could help himself.

Ziva was silent for a minute. "Yes."

McGee glanced at her, the suspicion clear in his eyes. "You're not just saying that to make me feel better?"

She gave him a wry look. "McGee, think who you are talking about here. This is the man who has apparently survived so many suicide runs he could be the poster boy for kamikaze missions." She shook her head. "No. I have the feeling that this city makes people stronger than they perhaps need to be."

McGee snorted. "Understatement." He paused this time. "But he was shot, point blank range… and I don't think I should even be this worried, because I've met the guy what, three times before now? It's not like we're best of friends. But I feel like it's you or Tony in there."

Ziva gave him a gentle, almost sad smile. "I also believe that this city has a way of bringing people together." She paused, frowned and shook her head, before letting her feet drop off the bed and standing up. "And I also believe that lack of sleep is making me…"

"Touchy-feely?" McGee supplied with a grin. "I can understand. You going to find a bed somewhere?"

Ziva motioned at DiNozzo. "I think it would be more comfortable than a chair," she told him with another smile. "Good night, Timothy."

He smiled back. "Good night, Ziva."

She walked away, and he glanced around at DiNozzo, smiling at the slump the agent had adopted, the drool, and the slight snore that was beginning to build up. And then he leaned back, decided he should try to get some sleep, before taking one last glance at the doors to the surgery, trying to shift his arm again, and closing his eyes.

* * *

Gibbs would never admit it out loud, but sunrise from a balcony on Atlantis, looking out over the Pacific Ocean into the never-ending distance… well, it was kind of pretty.

He sat in silence, trying to get his mind to still, though he had his third coffee for the night – morning, now – sitting in his hands, the steam gently curling from the mug. He was out on the balcony just outside the mess hall, alone, even though inside the nightshift were grabbing a quick breakfast before moving to their rooms to catch up on sleep after the events of the night.

He had to admit – and would do so even out loud – it had been one hell of a night. Thus his mind refusing to become still enough to sleep. No, he was thinking only time working on his boat would give him enough peace of mind to close his eyes without seeing explosions, gun shots, Wraith, and a certain lieutenant colonel bleeding out on the ground before him.

He shifted on the seat and took a sip of his coffee, relishing in the heat, before turning his head slightly at the sound of a door opening.

The man who came out onto the balcony wasn't one he had been expecting to see. Gibbs sat up straighter as General O'Neill approached, his own coffee mug in hand, and obviously intent on coming to sit next to him.

Or across from him, as it were. Gibbs leaned back in the chair, eyeing the general, not about to be the first to speak. Which O'Neill quickly realised, and then scowled about.

"Okay, look," the man began. "I'm not really one for that whole… long-winded speech thing, the emotion thing... and a lot of other things." He shrugged and leaned back himself, relaxing. Or appearing to relax. Gibbs knew better. On the other hand, he doubted O'Neill had missed his own tension.

"I had guessed that," Gibbs told him dryly, and the general half-heartedly scowled a him.

"What I am trying to say, is… Sheppard was right to vouch for you in the past. You did a good job, Agent Gibbs."

Gibbs wasn't usually one to judge people wrong, and he was relieved that in this case he hadn't done so. He nodded. "Thank you."

And for some reason, that made the general scowl. "You're welcome." There was a pause. "What, no gloating?"

"Did you really think I would?" Gibbs asked with a raised eyebrow. He took a sip of his coffee as O'Neill shook his head.

"No. Not really. But it would have been nice." The general gave a shrug. "But I don't like liking investigators." He gave a sort of wince. "Well, maybe like is too strong. Not hating?"

Gibbs gave a small chuckle, and looked down. "I didn't really think there was cause for gloating," he answered after a moment. "Otherwise I might have."

O'Neill nodded slowly, losing his good humour. "Yeah. One hell of a week."

"One hell of a month, from what I've been told," Gibbs reminded him with a small headshake.

"Yeah, that too." O'Neill took a deep mouthful of his coffee. "But hopefully that's over. We can concentrate on other things."

"Like recovery?" Gibbs asked. "How's the team doing?"

O'Neill eyed him for a minute. "They're alive," he answered softly. "McKay and Ronon are asleep, and really just need some TLC over the next couple of days. Teyla's doing surprisingly well – her infection is having its ass kicked by the antibiotics apparently. And Sheppard's been out of surgery for an hour now, had his lung sown back up so there's no hole in it… had the other holes in his body stitched up. And according to Keller, if infection doesn't set in, he has a seventy-five percent chance of making it."

"Seventy-five?" Gibbs barked, sitting upright. "But that's…"

The other man nodded. "She's really just being cautious. After all this is Sheppard we're talking about," O'Neill told him, seeming surprised at something. "Didn't know you cared that much, Agent Gibbs."

Neither did he. But what could he say, he liked the man. "Apparently he's saved the world a few times. Atlantis a few more times. I guess that means I owe him one."

"Not anymore," O'Neill reminded him. "You saved his life in Poland. His and his team's. Guess that makes you even."

There was a pause, and then Gibbs shifted on his seat. "So, I'm guessing we go back to NCIS now."

O'Neill answered even though it wasn't a question. "Yeah. Crisis over. You can go back to normality if you want. McGee probably doesn't need to stay longer than a day, just for observation, and the other two are fine except scratches and bruises."

"And you lot?"

O'Neill grinned. "What, you don't think this is normal for us?"

Gibbs didn't say a word, knowing the answer to that, and O'Neill stood, apparently having said all he needed to say.

Or maybe not, as the general turned back with another wince, like he couldn't believe he was about to say what he was about to say. "You did a good job out there, Agent Gibbs."

Gibbs raised an eyebrow and grinned. "Even for a civilian?" he asked.

To his surprise, O'Neill didn't even scowl. No, the other man went serious. "You aren't a civilian, Agent Gibbs." He started backing up towards the door, apparently having somewhere else – anywhere else? – he had to be. "Even if you work for NCIS. And your team, out there last night… they weren't civilians." He raised his mug as if to toast them, and then turned for the door, opening it half way before turning back. "Oh, and Agent Gibbs? Thank you."

He turned to go again, and then Gibbs stood up, not sure he should be saying something, but knowing he had to. "General O'Neill."

The man backed out of the door and turned to look at him, a suspicious frown on his face. "Yes?" he asked slowly.

Gibbs sighed. "Just… when Sheppard gets better… Make sure he sees someone. A shrink someone." He carefully didn't drop the general's gaze. "I think that week with Olczak affected him a lot more than he lets on."

O'Neill nodded slowly, and then he disappeared and Gibbs turned back to the rising sun, moved towards the balcony, frowning slightly as he sipped on his coffee.

* * *

Just one last chapter, cause we still have some broken people out there.


	24. Chapter 24

**Chapter 24**

_Three weeks later._

Gibbs ran his hands over the smooth wood of the plank, quickly deciding it needed to be smoother. He picked up the sander again, feeling that familiar swell of serenity as he made something completely by hand, without electricity and power tools. The boat was slowly but surely coming together, and it was beautiful. It kept him relaxed and it gave him time to think, something which he found himself needing more and more of these days.

He leaned over the wood, slowly moving the sander with the grain, pushing hard, but not too hard. He wasn't trying to grind away at it, it just needed to be perfect. He blew away the dust and turned to grab an old rag.

A shadow in the corner of his eye grabbed his attention, and he was reaching for his gun before he recognised the figure of Sheppard leaning down on the railing overlooking his basement, looking slightly perplexed.

"I should have known you'd only build a boat by hand. Too afraid another person's yacht will spring a leak?"

Gibbs stepped back, grinning slightly. "If I could afford a yacht, I wouldn't be an NCIS agent."

Sheppard snorted as he started down the stairs. "Yes, you would."

Gibbs grinned deeper, and he leaned back against his bench, studying the colonel: he looked strange in civilian clothes, and he still moved gingerly, was still pale, sure signs of his no doubt lengthy infirmary stay. But he looked a lot better than the last time Gibbs had seen him, stretched out on a bed, barely breathing without the aid of a respirator.

Sheppard stepped onto the floor of the basement and stared at the boat with amusement. "So, seriously. Why?"

"Why not?" Gibbs asked, turning around and reaching for the nearest draw. "Seemed like a good idea at the time."

Sheppard chuckled, but didn't say a word, just continued staring at the boat, seeming slightly uncomfortable as he stood there. Gibbs knew it even without looking. But he didn't say a word, just grabbed the bottle of whiskey he always kept in the draw and poured two glasses of the amber liquid.

"They caught Szymański, finally," Sheppard told him, though Gibbs doubted that was the reason the man was here. "Trying to cross into Russia."

Gibbs turned back, offering the second glass. "Must have been in hiding all this time." He eyed the colonel, and then leaned back. "I'm guessing none of the gang will ever see the light of day again?"

Sheppard didn't say a word, which was confirmation enough for Gibbs. He sighed. "So, how is everyone?" Gibbs asked, when the silence was getting too much.

Sheppard shrugged. "Fine. Alive, thanks to you. Everyone's out of the infirmary, most people are back on light duty. Not me, or Teyla, Trohman or Walker, but everyone else is. We, uh had the services for Atler and Bradleys two weeks ago. Which sucked. How's your team?"

Gibbs gave a small snort. "McGee and DiNozzo are still trying to sort out bragging rights about who actually saved the world." He shook his head. "But they're fine."

"Good," Sheppard muttered. "That's good." He looked down into his glass, but he didn't drink it for a moment, just leaned back on the counter, and smiled at himself, shaking his head ruefully, obviously starting to feel stupid for coming here. Gibbs figured he was going to have to do the talking here.

"So, what are you doing breaking into my house in the middle of the night?"

Sheppard glanced up at him, still grinning. "Hey, I knocked. Guess you were too busy living in the eighteenth century to notice. Why no power tools?"

Gibbs stared at him, not letting the man change the topic. "Why are you here, John?"

Sheppard stared at him a moment longer, slowly losing his grin, before standing upright, half turning, running his free hand through his head. "Okay. Okay." He put the glass of whiskey down. "You spoke to General O'Neill before you left Atlantis."

Gibbs nodded, not about to take any guilt over the decision, whatever Sheppard's reaction might have been. "Yes I did. You needed help, Sheppard. Probably still –."

"I wanted to say thank you."

Gibbs cut off, slightly stunned by the colonel's interruption. "You what?"

"Not often you get surprised, is it, Gibbs?" Sheppard asked, shaking his head. "I wanted to say thank you. Not only did you save me, and my team, but… you were right. I probably shouldn't have been on that mission. On either of them. I wasn't in the right headspace."

"Or maybe you were," Gibbs said slowly. "The job got done, didn't it? The planet's saved."

"Yeah," Sheppard told him. "Yeah, no Wraith are on their way, thank God. You're right, the job got done."

"So what's the problem?"

Sheppard was silent for a moment, obviously struggling with his words. With his head. "Me. I'm the problem. Or rather, what happened to me. To my team."

"You mean the torture." Gibbs knew he needed to be blunt, knew Sheppard would not respond to coddling. And apparently the colonel knew it as well, because Gibbs was starting to get an idea of why the man was here.

Sheppard nodded, clearing his throat. "Yeah. Yeah, the… that." He shook his head, leaned back against the bench and laughed. "Christ, I can't even say it."

"No reason you should have to," Gibbs told him. "There's no person alive who can come through something like that unscathed."

"I know," Sheppard snapped, a little angrily. "I know." He sighed. "But O'Neill and Woolsey have both said I need to talk to someone. Except I hate… I hate talking to shrinks."

Gibbs nodded as the man looked away, shaking his head, obviously feeling stupid for having come, for asking. But Gibbs was feeling strangely honoured. He nodded, before reaching around to grab Sheppard's abandoned glass of whiskey.

He handed it to the colonel, who took it, catching Gibbs' eye and not letting it drop. Gibbs raised an eyebrow.

"So talk."

* * *

He heard the clanging of sticks first.

Sheppard frowned, as, still in the clothes he had worn to see Gibbs, he rounded the corner and looked into the gym, wondering who was sparring at this hour.

He was only slightly surprised to find Teyla and Ronon, both with a light sheen of sweat, but looking healthy, fit – more than he could say about himself.

They had both seen him, he was sure of it, but they didn't pause, just continued with the light drill. Technically they were all on light duty – himself on extra light, not even allowed to touch paperwork – but Keller had agreed that some gentle sparring wouldn't hurt the two warriors, as long as they didn't exert themselves.

Taking the opportunity when his two team mates were on the other side of the room, John slipped in, walking around the wall to the seat where Rodney already waited, watching the two fight with something between admiration and derision. Sheppard sat down next to him, leaning back with a sigh of comfort. He probably hadn't been up to the trip to the mainland, but he knew he had needed it.

"Hey, haven't seen you since this afternoon," Rodney told him, turning his head with a frown. "Where have you been?"

Spilling his guts to a man he hardly knew. "I had business on the mainland," he said with a shrug. "Just needed a break from Atlantis for a couple of hours."

"I know what you mean," McKay sighed. "It's like I was away for a month, the city nearly fell apart."

Sheppard chuckled, seriously doubting that was the case, but not about to push the point. "Did I miss anything?"

"Me and Ronon were cleared for active duty. I can finally get back to working."

"You mean, not just working when Keller doesn't know where you are."

A year ago, McKay would have scowled. Now, he grinned and nodded cheerfully. "Absolutely." Then his face fell. "You won't tell her, will you?" He looked away, about to be sneaky. "Because I feel that then someone would need to tell her that a certain CO has been doing laps in the wee hours of the morning."

Sheppard rolled his eyes. "No, McKay. I'm not going to tell her?"

"Tell who what?"

Teyla and Ronon had finished sparring, and had approached their team mates, the Athosian asking the question.

"Keller, that McKay's been doing work when he shouldn't be," John told her cheerfully. Teyla grinned.

"Do you really believe she does not know that neither of you are paying attention to her instructions?"

Sheppard laughed, and stood up. "No, not really." McKay, on the other hand, looked devastated.

"She does?"

Sheppard laughed again as Rodney stood up, only this time he was joined by Ronon and Teyla, as they grabbed their bags.

McKay turned to Sheppard, all devastation gone, though not replaced by amusement at all. "How are you feeling? Still breathing okay?"

"Yes, McKay," John told him gently. "The doc says my lung is fine. Quit asking."

"Well, sorry for being worried," McKay snapped as Ronon and Teyla rejoined them. "But do you know how hard it was to just sit there and watch that… and Olczak… and everything! So you know what, we deserve to ask questions!"

Sheppard didn't speak for a moment, but looked at his team instead, studying them, how they were all bouncing back from what had happened to them. Then he thought back to what he had told Gibbs, and he did so without flinching, physically or mentally.

And he nodded. "Yeah, McKay. I'm doing okay."

* * *

Again, thanks to everyone for sticking around, this was a seriously long story!

Um, that might be my last crossover for a time. I have the urge to write some pure SGA stories, and I have loads of ideas that keep getting shoved aside for these crossovers! That being said, I do have an idea, but I think I will wait and see what the reaction is to SGU first...

Anyways, glad/hope you all liked it! And see you in my next story!


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